


Jagged Edge of Seduction

by AJ_Constantine



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_Constantine/pseuds/AJ_Constantine
Summary: Aziraphale's desire for Crowley leads him to make a shattering mistake in their first time together that tears them apart. Both are left devastated and have to work to find their way back to each other.Aziraphale suddenly closed the gap between them and kissed Crowley full on the lips. They had kissed before when it was the expected greeting at various points in history, a dry brushing of lips against the cheek in Italy, Portugal, France but this was nothing like those hellos dancing on the edge of impersonal. This was full pressure, lips firmly and urgently moving against his, Aziraphale’s hands grasping Crowley’s coat and pulling him off balance so that he stumbled forward into the angel, his hands automatically bracing himself against Aziraphale’s arms. Crowley froze in shock, then pulled back sharply, breaking the kiss but unable to step away due to the strong grip on the lapels of his coat. “What the Hell?” he said harshly.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 170
Kudos: 219





	1. Jagged Edge of Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> _**CONTENT WARNING:** This chapter has an explicit very dubious consent scene. There is no forcing or violence but some may feel that it teeters into rape. If you're sensitive to that type of scene please don't read it. If you are interested in reading what happens as a result of it, stop reading to the point Aziraphale starts talking about Scotch and pick it up in the next chapter. _
> 
> _As always, comments are welcomed, appreciated, and cherished like the treasures they are._

Aziraphale suddenly closed the gap between them and kissed Crowley full on the lips. They had kissed before when it was the expected greeting at various points in history, a dry brushing of lips against the cheek in Italy, Portugal, France but this was nothing like those hellos dancing on the edge of impersonal. This was full pressure, lips firmly and urgently moving against his, Aziraphale’s hands grasping Crowley’s coat and pulling him off balance so that he stumbled forward into the angel, his hands automatically bracing himself against Aziraphale’s arms. Crowley froze, then pulled back sharply, breaking the kiss but unable to step away due to the strong grip on the lapels of his coat. “What the Hell?” he asked, his tone harsh with the shock that snapped within him.

Aziraphale looked at him unapologetically, lips parted, leaning forward. “Crowley…” he said, his voice low. “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like if you and I…?”

“What?! Is this a joke? Did you lose a bet?” Crowley looked around wildly as though he expected a bunch of frat boys placing drunken bar bets to miraculously appear.

“No to both questions my dear.”

His lips tingling, heart hammering so hard he was distantly surprised he couldn't hear it, the only response he could manage was to go on the defensive. “Then why in the holy _fuck_ did you think springing  _ that  _ on me was a good idea?” he spat out.

“Well, I’ve been dropping hints but you’re remarkably obtuse at times.”

He's floundering, unmoored, the anchor of what he knew to expect from reality sinking away from his grasp. “I—Aziraphale, what’s gotten into you?”

“Well, nothing yet, but I was rather hoping you might change that,” came the calm reply. 

Crowley could only gape at the angel at this point, his stunned mouth hanging open, the jaw muscles needed to close it beyond his ability to make function. Aziraphale tried to kiss him again, but Crowley pushed him away and stumbled backwards out of Aziraphale's grasp. Aziraphale let him go but then merely tilted his head and regarded him with a look he’d only ever seen reserved for a particularly delectable item of cuisine, which gave Crowley the mad impulse to check himself to see if someone had pelted him with a paint gun filled with Crème Brulee pellets without his notice. 

He finally managed to snap his mouth closed fitfully ran his hand through his hair, completely out of sorts and feeling a rising anger replace his shock. This was— something he couldn't deal with, was what this was. 

“I’m leaving. I’ll see you around.” His tone dripped suave coolness, masking the darting edges of the juxtaposition of emotions flailing in his chest.

“You drove us here Crowley. Aren’t you going to give me a lift home?”

“You’ve had sssix thousssand yearsss to figure out how to navigate Earth. I imagine you can figure out a way to get your angelic asss back.” he snarled. So much for suave coolness. He stalked to the Bentley and squealed off, restraining himself from looking back.

A few days went by with Crowley intermittently pacing his flat like a caged animal and hurling his car through the streets of London, driving by the bookshop countless times, slowing, looking despite telling himself not to but never stopping, when suddenly Aziraphale called him up to calmly invite him out to dinner, lightly casual as if nothing unusual had happened.  _ I hear this new restaurant has the most delightful flaming desserts, we really must go,  _ and during dinner the conversation was the same as it ever had been. What books Aziraphale was captivated with at that time, what upcoming theater might be worth watching, the dreadful influx of tourists expected that summer and how that would make managing the bookshop that much more annoying— during all of which Crowley was less verbose than usual but dutifully made the expected responses. He watched Aziraphale intently behind his sunglasses but the angel appeared completely unflapped, and did nothing…  _ unexpected  _ for the entire night.

Afterwards, they resumed their normal routines of spending time together as if nothing happened. But Crowley had the memory of it itching under his skin as he gazed at Aziraphale thoughtfully behind his sunglasses when the angel wasn’t looking. What had possessed him to do it? Surely he had to have been thinking about that axis tilting event? Was it a great hulking beast of a memory crowding his thoughts with sharp claws so that he could barely think of anything else? But not by word nor deed did Aziraphale give any hint that he was in any way affected by it. Although...did Aziraphale’s arm bump against his more than before? Had his fingers always brushed against Crowley’s when handing him a drink? Did they always sit this close together when they went out to eat, did their legs always randomly touch? Crowley tried to remember, but he was having trouble thinking clearly and he was more aware of these casual touches sending a trail of fire against his skin than ever before. 

Then one night after drinking quite a bit of wine with dinner, Aziraphale solicitously refilling Crowley’s glass frequently, they weaved their way into the bookshop, and somehow Crowley found himself pulled up the stairs into the flat above the shop.

“I have that case of Scotch I was telling you about here somewhere,” Aziraphale said as he rummaged through some boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner. 

Crowley looked blearily at the large bed in the flat. Why did Aziraphale have a bed? It even had blankets and pillows, everything needed for sleeping, but the angel didn’t sleep… although sleep sounded like a brilliant notion right about now… he stumbled towards the bed and fell backwards on it, arms wide out. Oh, and it was gloriously soft, he was sinking into it like a cloud. Not that he'd ever actually sank into a cloud, probably mostly cold and wet, not at all relaxing...

His drowsy musings where interrupted by a fussy voice. “Crowley, no shoes on the bed, here, I’ll help you with that.” Hands began tugging off his shoes and socks, then, “Really my dear, let me help you get more comfortable…” Before he knew what was happening his belt was removed and his shirt was in the process of being unbuttoned. “Wait— whatter you doin’?” he said, his words slurred.

“You are obviously in no condition to drive home my dear, why don’t you stay the night?” Aziraphale said while continuing to unfasten the buttons.

Crowley tried to think coherently. It sounded logical but there seemed to be a very good reason why he shouldn’t stay. He tried to make his wine soaked head think clearly and ineffectively batted at Aziraphale’s hands, who was pulling the shirt sleeve off of one of his arms. 

Aziraphale pulled the sleeve off of his other arm, then slid the shirt out from under him. His hands moved down and unfastened Crowley’s jeans. 

Alarm spread through him and he struggled to sit up on his elbows. “Aziraphale, what are you doing?” he asked again, making an effort to enunciate. 

The angel paused and looked at him consideringly, his blue eyes unreadable. “Did I ever tell you I took massage classes when I had to go to Thailand a few decades ago? You have seemed so tense lately, let me help you with that.”

“You want to… massage me?” The idea was so unlike anything they had ever even remotely done before his mind went blank at the very thought of it. Before he could formulate some kind of response he somehow found himself turned over. There were rustling noises, then oiled hands were gliding up his back. His initial astonishment quickly puddled into a languid heaviness as his muscles were worked into. He groaned as his shoulders were kneaded and then strong palms slid firmly down his back; it felt so incredibly good that before long he was floating in a daze of relaxation. He barely registered when his jeans were tugged off, the hands resuming sliding and kneading into his buttocks and the backs of his thighs.

The silence stretched out and Crowley felt himself tilting towards the edge of sleep which Aziraphale’s low voice jolted him out of it. 

“Tell me what it’s like for you to seduce a human.” 

“Ah, what? Why?” he mumbled. 

“I’m curious. I haven’t done anything quite like that before, and I’ve wondered… you’re the only one I can ask about it." Crowley fuzzily debated. They had never talked in detail about his conquests; another unspoken line not to be crossed, and he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to cross it now. But he just couldn't _think_ clearly. Perhaps he should sober up... "Please Crowley?”

Crowley sighed. He had never been able to resist Aziraphale very well, and his willpower was further in shreds by the copious amounts of wine swirling through his bloodstream and the hands kneading delicious pleasure into his body.

“Ah, it’s… ‘course the act itself feels really good, but there’s more to it than that....” He paused, his thoughts picking through his past interactions. “There’s the thrill of the chase… it’s best if it takes some time, if they resist… not physically but emotionally, so that when they finally give in they’re more needy, desperate… they surrender more completely...”

“Mmm. And what does that feel like for you? Is there something you enjoy about that?” Dimly he felt Aziraphale get off of the bed, then more rustling. 

“Um, to have them finally surrender to me completely… I feel powerful, possessive... can make the sex even better, more intense…” He distantly felt his groin began to stir as he was putting voice to his memories of being turned on.

He felt Aziraphale climbed back onto the bed. “Turn over but keep your eyes closed.”

He almost felt too boneless to muster up the energy to turn over, but Aziraphale had asked him for something and that deeply ingrained part of him that had been conditioned to respond to the angel throughout the centuries compelled him to comply. He rolled onto his back with an effort, and then heard Aziraphale take a sharp intake of breath. Oh. Perhaps turning over when he still had an erection wasn't the best plan. Maybe he should turn back onto his stomach. But then Aziraphale’s oiled hands began sliding over his chest and all thoughts of that flew out of his head. He groaned as knuckles pressed firmly into his muscles; vaguely thinking he should be worried about something but felt too boneless and heavy to muster up the energy for it. Crowley had occasionally tried out a professional massage before, and found the experience enjoyable, but feeling _Aziraphale_ touch him like this was so outside the box of their carefully designed relationship he couldn't even being to think of what he should do about it. The acute intimacy of the angel’s hands sliding along his naked flesh when they had barely touched prior to tonight... this wasn’t… this couldn’t mean anything... 

“And how about you? Have you ever surrendered to someone else? Given yourself up completely?” came as soft murmur above him. 

“No…” he replied slowly. He’d had no reason or inclination to; he was usually the instigator in sexual interactions when he had a goal he was working towards, or the rare occasions he felt like pursuing sex for his own pleasure.

There was silence, then he felt a hand sliding down, trailing down his chest, over his abdomen, then… he inhaled sharply as an oiled hand slid between his legs and circled around his cock. His eyes flew open to see Aziraphale lowering his head to kiss him. He initially tried not to respond, to pull back, but his head was held between the mattress and Aziraphale's mouth, and then the hand began a steady stroking that felt so good it was unwinding the spools of his resistance with each pull. He raised his arms with the intention of pushing Aziraphale away, but then his hands settled on bare skin. Aziraphale was _naked_. His hands skimmed over the bare curves disbelievingly, his side, his hip, down further, and when his hand curved around the broad arse, filling his hand as it flexed underneath him a rush of heat shot straight to his groin. He moaned at the sensation, and a tongue entered his parted lips, twining with his, greedily exploring. 

_Holy fuck!_ Aziraphale was kissing him, they were kissing, and it felt so _good_. Aziraphale's mouth felt deliciously possessive, firm against his mouth as if claiming him and for the first time in his existence Crowley thought that perhaps he wouldn't mind being possessed by someone after all. He was dizzy with the overwhelming newness of this all, with how astonishingly good it felt kissing Aziraphale, touching him like this, wait, touching him... that's not... this isn't.... but his thoughts skittered away from him when Aziraphale slid on top of him and moved his mouth down to Crowley’s neck to suck in bruising kisses. Crowley arched underneath him, gasping, trying to think coherently but his hard erection leaking in the space between them and wildly thrumming libido was firmly overriding any rational thought. He made a valiant effort and managed to choke out “Aziraphale. Stop,” pushing at him.

Aziraphale paused and raised his head to look down at Crowley. “Are you sure that you want me to stop?” he asked in a low voice, undulating his hips down, which caused Crowley's traitorous hips to push up in response without any input from his brain as their erections slid against each other with spreading jolts of pleasure. He grasped Crowley’s wrists and placed them to the side of his head, pinning him down. “Are you sure you don’t want to surrender to me?” He bent down and kissed him possessively, his tongue licking into Crowley's mouth. “Are you sure you don’t want me to possess you?”

Crowley was lost, his head swimming in a wine induced haze as desire warring with uncertainty. He’d never, in all of these centuries, seen Aziraphale behave this way and although he there was a part of him writhing in discomfort about what was happening— he was also undeniably desperately aroused, his cock harder than he could ever remember it being before, the slide of Aziraphale’s naked body against it making him _burn_ with the raw desire for  _ more, now _ . 

But this— this was going too fast, he wasn’t ready for this change between them. He wasn’t much one for talking about his feelings but he needed to know what was driving Aziraphale to do this, if he just wanted to fuck him or if— if he— He opened his mouth to say no, that he wanted to slow down, that they should wait, or maybe just kiss, the kissing was nice— but Aziraphale covered his mouth with his lips again and he found himself helplessly responding against the plundering tongue, straining up against Aziraphale’s arms still holding him down, his legs lifting, spreading and wrapping around the angel’s hips, which was continuing to grind against him. He could never resist the angel for long...

as Aziraphale moved more urgently against him, the last of his resistance slid away, his drunken state smothering the sense of wrongness in the dim recesses of his mind. He was moaning in hitching breaths, his head thrown back as Aziraphale mouthed at his neck, when Aziraphale broke off to lean over to the nightstand and pull out a small bottle. Crowley watched Aziraphale apply lubricant to himself, still faintly feeling alarmed but too far gone to act on it. Aziraphale kneeled between Crowley's legs and pressed a lubricated finger to Crowley's furled entrance. Crowley's breath caught and Aziraphale raised his gaze, blue eyes radiating such hungry desire that Crowley felt something twinge inside of him in response. “Crowley?” Aziraphale asked softly. A tiny voice shouted from the back of his mind _this isn't what he wanted— he should stop this, he should stop, he should_ — he nodded and Aziraphale pressed his finger in. Crowley arched his back at the sensation, his toes curling. It didn't matter, nothing mattered, it felt so good, he needed more— he had no idea how much time passed while Aziraphale fingered him as he gasped and moaned but before he knew it Aziraphale was leaning over him, positioning himself. He cried out as Aziraphale thrust into him, flexing his hips to meet him. “Oh  _ Crowley.”  _ the angel moaned. 

Despite the continued unease hovering at the edges of his mind he couldn’t deny that _oh sweet Heaven_ the glorious pounding into him somehow felt so undeniably, incredibly good, far better than any human he’d been with, how was that possible? He was spiraling in sensations, of the drag of Aziraphale's hard cock inside of him, of the plush belly rubbing against his own leaking cock, of being held in those arms, of being kissed by that mouth he had known since the beginning of time. He wrapped his legs around those broad hips, rocking into the steady thrusting, holding on to him tightly as Aziraphale gave his last final vigorous thrusts, arching back and cried out with Crowley's name on his lips. 

Aziraphale collapsed against him, panting. After he gathered himself he sifted to his side and reached down to stroke Crowley's cock which was achingly hard. Crowley closed his eyes, only a few strokes of Aziraphale's hand causing him to shudder violently as he, too, found release, spilling over the angels fingers. Aziraphale pumped him through it until he was spent, then waved them clean and rained light kisses over Crowley’s face before tugging the comforter down and then back over them, yawning. 

A snap of angelic fingers and the room turned dark. Silence descended, Aziraphale’s breathing turning soft and even while Crowley slowly became sober, staring into the darkness.

* * *

Aziraphale slowly rose into consciousness, realizing with some surprise that he had fallen asleep, a rare occurrence for him. The memory of the previous night flooded him and he turned his head his head with anticipation, but was disappointed to see that he was alone in the bed. He looked up to see Crowley, fully dressed, standing at the window looking down at the morning traffic. A warm happiness flooded him. “Crowley?” he asked, sitting up. 

The demon looked over, his eyes concealed by sunglasses. A faint warning bell sounded in the back of Aziraphale’s mind; Crowley never wore his glasses when it was just the two of them… 

“It’s about time you woke up.” Crowley’s voice sounded strange, flat, his face expressionless. He turned from the window and approached the bed, leaning down to look intently into Aziraphale’s eyes. Uncertain, Aziraphale looked back, trying to guess what Crowley was thinking. Crowley nodded briefly, then stood upright, folding his arms. “Bring out your wings,” he ordered.

“What? Why?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

Crowley hissed, “Bring. Out. Your. Wingsss.” His voice rose sharply, dripping the words venomously.

Frightened now of what was happening, Aziraphale rose on his knees and complied, snow white wings bursting forth, fluttering as a reflection of his mounting anxiety. Upon seeing them, Crowley swayed slightly as if his knees buckled. Aziraphale made a move to reach his hand out but Crowley snapped viciously, “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Aziraphale’s pulled back in shock, his eyes wide. “Crowley— wh— what’s wrong?”

Crowley laughed, the sound harsh and bitter with jagged edges. “What’s wrong? Let’s see, could there be anything wrong with someone who I thought was my best friend purposely getting me shitfaced drunk so that he could fuck me? Even when I asked him to stop?”

“But—I—you were enjoying it—I didn’t force you—“ he stuttered, horrified, a terror rising so swift and strong he felt as if he would be crushed under its weight.

“Yesss, I had an erection, which you took full advantage of, pushing me farther than I wanted to go; it was abundantly fucking clear that what I wanted didn’t matter to you as long as you got to fuck me. I’m a God Damned demon Aziraphale and I  _ never  _ would have done that to you!” he roared, hands curled into fists as he radiated anger. 

Aziraphale's eyes burned as tears sprang into them and fell down his cheeks, his eyes wide and frantic. “I—I’m so very, very sorry— I didn’t think you would mind, all of those humans you've seduced, I didn’t think it would mean anything to you—” As soon as the words left his mouth he realized he had made yet another terrible mistake as Crowley flinched and a fleeting expression of ragged hurt flitted across his face before being replaced again by cold anger.

“Mean anything…” he said slowly. “Of course not. Goodbye Aziraphale.” He turned and strode out of the flat and down the stairs. 

Aziraphale pulled in his wings and miracled on clothes, running downstairs as fast as he could and catching Crowley’s arm in the process of wrenching open the bookshop door. “Please, don’t go, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, please, let’s talk about it, please…” he babbled frantically.

Crowley turned and pinned him with a furious stare that was evident even behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale’s voice lodged in his throat. He had never seen the demon look so angry. “You could have had what you wanted, Aziraphale, with time, but not like this.” He wrenched his arm free of the angel’s grasp and stalked to his Bentley, roaring away as Aziraphale fell to his knees and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bit dark, I know. There will be growth and reconciliation and will end well eventually, I can never bring myself to give these two an unhappy ending.


	2. Searching

As the days passed Aziraphale left multiple tearful apologies on Crowley’s answerphone, and then when the machine was full and couldn't take any more messages he gathered his courage and went to Crowley’s flat. After knocking anxiously with no response he placed his hands on the door, gathering his senses. The flat felt empty, hints of demonic presence seeping through but no actual demon lurking within. He came to the flat again and again, hoping to catch him, and finally resolved to wait all day and night if needed. As he was wretchedly leaning against the door after having waited for hours, an elderly woman came shuffling down the hall. She looked at him and paused. “If you’re waiting for Anthony you’ll be waiting a long time, he’s gone.”

Aziraphale jerked upright. “Gone? Gone where?”

She pursed her thin lips in annoyance. “Don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me. He said he’d be gone for a long time, maybe years, maybe forever.” She sighed. “It’s hard to find nice neighbors, he would carry my groceries for me.” She started shuffling forward again.

“Wait! Did he say anything else, anything at all that may be a clue as to where he went?” Aziraphale asked pleadingly. 

“No, sorry. He looked so sad, I’ve never seen him look like that before, whatever it was that made him leave must have been truly awful.” Shaking her head, she continued down the hall.

Stricken, Aziraphale turned back to face Crowley's flat, and after a pause, opened the locked door and stepped inside. The furniture was still in place, an empty bottle of Scotch on the table next to a car magazine, everything left as if their owner had just stepped out for a tick. He wandered through, running his hands over the chairs, tables, and looked forlornly at the wreckage of the answerphone on the floor that had clearly been thrown hard against the wall. He passed by the doorway of Crowley’s bedroom but couldn’t bring himself to step inside, then came into the room where Crowley kept his plants and took in the sight of them visibly drooping from lack of water. Numb, his hands picked up the watering can and filled it. As he watered the plants, hands shaking, he murmured, “There now, don’t you worry, he’ll come back, he has to, you haven’t lost him forever, it will be all right, it has to be all right…” Tears poured down his face.

* * *

As time passed he tried to think of anyone he could ask about Crowley’s whereabouts, but the only person he could recall Crowley mentioning in recent enough history that would still be alive was an Irishman he sometimes played pool with. Armed with a map of London, Aziraphale carefully researched all of the pubs that had a chance of having a pool table and methodically began visiting one after another, starting near Crowley’s flat then spiraling outward. Each time he went inside he asked the same two questions; _Do you have a pool table?_ , if not immediately obvious, then _Do you recall a customer by the name of Crowley; red hair, wears sunglasses and a lot of black… No? Is there anyone else who works here I can ask to be sure?_

He increasingly regretted not having a photograph of Crowley to show. He had never felt he needed one before as he could close his eyes and recall every detail of golden eyes crinkled with amusement, a sharp cheekbone canted towards him, lanky frame moving with boneless grace, red hair catching the sun and gleaming like spun strands of molten lava… an ability he now cursed as the image of the demon burned against his eyelids whenever they closed.

There were a lot of red X’s on his map when he tiredly pushed the door open into yet another establishment. Upon seeing the pool table he went to the bar and asked his second question, already prepared to turn back towards the door when the unexpected response snapped him to focused attention. 

“Sure I know Crowley. I haven’t seen him for a while though, if you’re looking for him.”

His pulse thrumming, he honed in on the sandy haired bartender with desperate hope. “I’m actually looking for a friend of his, although I’m afraid I don’t know his name. I believe he’s an Irish gentleman. I think they played pool together?”

The bartender eyed him for a moment, then apparently deciding that a middle aged man that looked like an antiquated University professor was likely harmless replied “That would be Mickey. He usually comes around here after he gets off work on Fridays, you could probably catch him then.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh _thank you_ so very much my dear. I’ll pop around on Friday then.” He left with a lightness in his step, trying but failing not to feel hopeful. The Irishman might not know anything useful, but this was the only lead he had.

Friday was slow in coming, the days passing with the sluggishness of an American housewife reaching for chocolates while mesmerized by daytime television dramas. Finally Friday arrived, the _tick, tick, tick_ of the clock counting down the plethora of minutes with painful slowness that had to pass until the day eased into night. Aziraphale slipped past the door of the pub, going directly to the bartender who nodded to him in recognition. “Mikey’s over there.” he said, pointing to a stocky man wearing a flat cap, wiping his graying beard after taking a drink from his pint glass. “Oh, and hey, if you see Crowley tell him to come back and settle his tab. I hope the flash bastard hasn’t skipped out of town for good without paying me.”

_You and me both, my dear._ Aziraphale thought distractedly, turning and making his way to the man that had been pointed out to him. 

“Um, Mikey, I presume? Do you mind if I have a word?”

A grizzled eyebrow raised and Mikey grunted with a miniscule raise of one shoulder, which Aziraphale supposed might indicate agreement so he sat down in the chair across from him. 

He gave Mikey what he hoped was a disarming smile. “So, the thing is, I’m looking for Crowley— I know he’s left town— and I was rather hoping he might have mentioned to you where he was going. I—” he hurriedly tried to think of a plausible excuse as to why he was trying to track him down. “—have some money I own him, you see, and I would really like settle my debt to him.”

“Huh,” Mickey grunted, taking a long drink of his beer. “You a friend of his?”

“Ah— yes,” Aziraphale replied earnestly. “He’s my oldest friend actually, we’ve known each other since the dawn of time.”

“Hmph. He was a right mess when I saw him last, went on a bender over some girl.”

“W—what?” Aziraphale asked, startled.

“Yeah, Angela or Angel or summit like that. I dunno where he's gone off to; maybe if you can find her she’ll know where he is.” He drained the last of his beer, eyeing the empty glass mournfully.

_Oh._ He rather hoped the flush on his face wouldn’t be apparent in the dim light of the pub. “Did he say anything at all about where he might have gone? Any clue?” he said, lowering his eyes to his fingers rubbing at the worn varnish on the table in an effort to hide the desperation he was sure was written all over his face. 

“Naw, sorry. He wasn’t saying much of anything that made sense by the time we stumbled out of here a couple of weeks ago and I poured him into a cab. Kept goin’ on about the girl, and really weird stuff about Heaven and Hell, the Blitz… seemed right bloody bonkers.” He shook his head.

Aziraphale nodded heavily, a feeling of numbness spreading through him. He only lead, a dead end. “Yes, well, thank you for your time. Have a pleasant evening.” 

As he stood to leave Mickey said, “Hey, if you find the girl tell her to stay the fuck away from Crowley. I don’t know what she did, but seeing a grown man cry— well, he’s my mate and I hated seeing him like that.”

Aziraphale blinked hard, a tremor running through him. Not trusting himself to speak calmly, he simply nodded again and left.

Mikey watched him go— he seemed like an odd sort of guy to be a friend of Crowley’s, but he shrugged internally then looked down at his glass, which was filled to the brim with dark foamy stout. He regarded it with brief surprise, but never one to not take advantage of an opportunity, cheerfully took a deep swallow.

* * *

This really won’t do, I can’t stay here forever, Aziraphale thought listlessly as he lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling. He did that a lot lately, the bed evoking a bitter tangled mixture of deep shame, regret, and the shamefully euphoric bliss he had felt when he was in Crowley’s arms. The bliss he had dreamt about, yearned for so long, and finally acted on, but in way that was— he forced his mind away from completing that thought, knowing from experience it would spiral him further into self loathing and despair. He couldn’t eat, food turned to ash in his mouth and although he didn’t actually need to eat, the lack of the habit of centuries was further draining his ability to cope. He was thinner than he had been in centuries, necessitating adjustments to his clothing as he sourly thought how how pleased Gabriel would have been had he managed to loose the weight back when he had regular contact with Heaven. He rarely opened the bookshop. When he tried, every time the door opened he jumped and looked up hopefully, but it was never the one person he was desperate to see more than anything else in the world. He had lost track of how much time had passed since Crowley had disappeared, several months he supposed, maybe longer. Tears gathered in his eyes again and he wiped at them, frustrated. Even when he cried himself to exhaustion the tears always seemed to be there. 

He had a desperate clawing need to try to make things right but he had no idea where Crowley was; he was definitely not in London, probably not in England because when he tried to sense him he found nothing. The Earth was huge; he could wander it in fruitless searching until the last human turned to dust and still not find him.

He closed his eyes, fervently praying. _Please Lord. I don’t know if you can hear me, I don’t know if you’re listening. I don’t deserve forgiveness, not from You, especially not from him, but if there is anything I could do, the smallest chance I can make things right in some small way... I… I feel as if I had a soul that's been ripped from me… I am begging you with everything I have. I am drowning in sorrow, in shame, I am so lost, more afraid than I've ever felt before, please… please..._

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, curling into a ball on his side. He didn’t even know what he was begging the Almighty for. Forgiveness? To produce Crowley like a magician pulling a dove out of his sleeve? 

If only he knew where Crowley was, if he could throw himself before him, offer to anoint his feet with his tears, dry it with is hair, no, that wasn’t Crowley’s style, he’s more likely to be impressed by an offer to wire his flat with a sound system that could be heard three blocks away. But he couldn’t offer _anything_ without knowing where he was!

Maybe he could try again… he concentrated and tried harder than ever before to cast his senses out, pushing, reaching, trembling with the effort— his eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, chest heaving. He still didn’t know where Crowley was, but for the first time he had a direction. He scrambled out of bed and hastily pulled out a suitcase, shoving items into it. 

When he arrived at the airport he dithered before going to the ticket counter. All he knew was that he needed to go vaguely southeast, and far away, but that left a lot of countries as possibilities. He sighed and purchased his first ticket.

When he got off the plane in Turkey he immediately found a place to sit down in the airport where he could close his eyes and concentrate. After an agonizingly long time he was able to sense he needed to continue east but that he still wasn’t close. He went straight to the ticket counter and bought a ticket for Shanghai, which was the furthest he could go without crossing the ocean. 

Once he landed in Shanghai, he did the same thing, frustrated to discover that now he needed to go back west, and he didn’t seem to feel that he was all that much closer. _Damn it_ he swore. China was huge, it would take him forever to explore it, even assuming Crowley was in China and not one of the other countries next to it. He went to the ticket counter, puzzling the ticket agent when he asked to go to an airport in the middle of China, but that he didn’t really care which one. The next time he landed it was a little easier to sense the demonic presence he yearned for, still not close but somewhere more to the west… it was time to switch to trains to narrow down his search.

After days of traveling he finally arrived in Nepal. When he got off the train his heart soared— Crowley was here somewhere in the city, he could feel him! He ran to the nearest reasonable looking hotel room and threw his suitcase in the room, preparing to run back out the door but then froze at the doorway. After so long of yearning and hoping he was finally about to see Crowley and despite helplessly running a myriad of possible scenarios through his head for months he still had no idea what he was going to say. Simple apologies were not going to be enough, and what if Crowley refused to see him, hear him? He had every right to be furious, but Aziraphale had to try, to beg for forgiveness...

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and reached out to sense Crowley, then gathered his courage and began walking. 

He followed his sense of the demon deep into the city, the buildings and inhabitants getting shabbier and more desperate as he progressed. He absently noticed dark shifty eyes followed him, eyeing his nice clothes and bright hair but he disregarded them, his feet hurrying him forward as the presence of the demon felt stronger… finally he came to a stop in front of a plain door in a crumbling building. Crowley was somewhere behind that door. Hand shaking, he reached out and turned the knob to open it slowly… and a stench hit him like a palpable wave. The smell of unwashed bodies, stale sweat, vomit and… the lingering tendrils of the scent of death. His hand to his face, he stepped inside to see a long hallway lined with door frames, most of the doors long since broken off of their hinges. It was dark inside, the only light dimly filtered in from greasy windows and as he walked forward he saw a body slumped over in the hallway, alive if he could call it that, with a needle sticking out of his arm. He stepped over the body and turned into one of the rooms, there were more bodies here, some moving feebly… and there he was, a dark man shaped lump indistinguishable from the rest, sprawled out face down on a filthy worn mattress on the floor. Aziraphale rushed to him and hesitated, his hands shaking, then reached out to gently turn him over.

“Crowley! Crowley, oh, my dear...” He couldn’t see him well, it was too dark.. he snapped his fingers, and then when light flooded the room he recoiled in horror. Crowley’s shirt sleeves were shoved up, there were multiple track marks on his arms, he was covered in scattered bruises, a myriad of abrasions, and the normally immaculate demon was filthy and smelled just as bad as the equally pathetic humans in the room. 

With the appearance of the light Crowley feebly stirred and barely cracked open his eyes. “Zirphl..” he mumbled. “S’not real…”

Aziraphale blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. If he started crying now he wouldn't be able to stop. “Come on my dear, oh please, please come with me.” He hauled Crowley upright, and with most of the demon’s weight on him, he was really almost carrying him, he managed to get him out of the building. They stumbled through the streets, Crowley falling several times until Aziraphale finally picked him up and carried him, earning odd looks from the people they passed. Crowley was limp in his arms, head lolled back, mouth slack, face ashen, the automatic rise and fall of his chest the only visible proof he wasn’t a corpse. When Aziraphale managed to get into a slightly better part of town he flagged down a taxi to take them to the hotel, although he had to pay triple the rate to convince the driver to let Crowley into the car. 

When he carried Crowley into the hotel lobby the reception staff looked at him in alarm and one of them bustled over, opening his mouth to object but when Aziraphale glared at him fiercely, blue eyes turning frosty with the promise of divine anger, he thought better of it. 

Once in the hotel room he gently laid Crowley on the bed, who barely stirred. He stood there, his hand to his mouth, staring at him. He had never, in six thousand years, seen Crowley in anything remotely like this state and anguish threatened to crush him onto his knees. _Oh my dear boy. What have I done to you?_ He shook his head sharply. Drowning in self pity would not do Crowley any good, especially now. 

He went into the bathroom to fill up the bathtub. Once that was done he came back and began removing the demon’s clothes, trying without much success not to think about the last time he had done that and how it had led to the twisted barbed wire path they found themselves on now. After removing the last garment he glanced at the filthy clothes piled on the floor and they obediently turned into a pile of smoking ash. Gathering Crowley in his arms again, he brought him into the bathroom and laid him into the bath. 

Upon being immersed in the warm water, Crowley stirred, his eyes opening in slits as he winced at the bright lights. Aziraphale immediately dimmed the lights with a wave. 

“Ang'l?” he slurred. He seemed to be having trouble focusing.

“Yes, my dearest, I’m here.” he said, despairing to see Crowley this way. “Do you think you could try to sober up? Please?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Crowley frowned but after a long pause nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating. As the drugs left his body he shook and cried out in pain, Aziraphale watching helplessly, before collapsing back against the tub.

Hands shaking, Aziraphale soaped up a flannel and started to clean Crowley’s face but a surprisingly strong hand caught his wrist. He swallowed hard, gathered his courage and looked into the clear golden eyes looking back at him. 

“You’re really here?” Crowley said wonderingly. 

Aziraphale fought not to cry. “Yes, yes, I’m really here… I’ve been looking for you for so long… I…” the words lodged in his throat, acutely aware of how inadequate anything he could say would be. 

Crowley stared at him, then let go of his wrist, letting his hand fall back into the water. Then, to Aziraphale’s utter horror, as he watched strong, cynical, confident Crowley, the demon’s face crumpled and he began to cry, with great wracking sobs that shook his lean frame. Oh God, he had to— heedless of his clothes, he climbed into the tub, water sloshing over the sides and pulled Crowley in his arms, his own tears falling freely down his face as he cried with him. 

They remained that way for a long time, even after both cries had slowed to the occasional sob, then deep breaths. At some point Crowley’s arms had wrapped around Aziraphale, holding on to him so tightly the angel knew he would likely be bruised later but didn’t care in the slightest. 

Crowley’s voice, cracked and broken, was muffled against Aziraphale’s chest. “You could have Fallen.”

Aziraphale caught his breath. “No my dearest. I will forever regret what I did; I never meant to hurt you, please believe that, but I was not going to Fall because of it.”

Crowley pulled back to look at him, hurt and anger evident on his face. _“You couldn’t have known that!”_

“I— I did know.” Aziraphale pleaded with him, trying to make him understand. “Crowley, I love you, I’m in love with you, I won’t Fall because I made love to you.”

“That wasn’t making love, that was fucking.” Crowley snarled. 

Tears were gathering in his eyes again as he placed his hands to the side of Crowley’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered. “I did it all wrong, I know that now, and I am so desperately ashamed, but Crowley, you have to understand, it was making love for me, not just sex. I love you more than I can possibly express, and I know that you don’t feel the same, and I swear I will _never_ touch you in that way again, but I have to try to make things right between us. Please Crowley, I miss you so much, I feel like a part of me has been ripped away with you gone. I know I don’t deserve it, but if there is any way you could possibly forgive me, I would do _anything_ to have you back in my life.”

The silence drew out as Crowley staring at Aziraphale without moving. The his hands slowly rose up and he placed them over Aziraphale's hands on his face. “Oh, you daft— don’t you understand? If I didn’t care about you, if I didn’t l—ove—” he stuttered on the word, grimaced, then continued “—I would have been happy to fuck you anytime you wanted. I wouldn’t have cared if you Fell. I wouldn’t have cared that you purposely took advantage of me…” his words trailed off as Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, taking his hands away from Crowley's face as he started crying again, helplessly saying over and over again, “I’m sorry, please forgive me, I’m so sorry, please forgive me…” 

Crowley said softly, “Shhh, don’t cry, angel.” He wiped the tears from Aziraphale’s face and waited until the angel quieted to sniffles. 

Golden eyes bore steadily into blue. “I missed you so God damned much, even though I didn’t want to. Even when I tried to hang onto my anger I yearned for you. But when you did what you did, and then said what happened didn’t mean anything… I couldn’t, I couldn’t…. all I could do was try to drown myself in oblivion to try not to feel. But here you are. You came for me.” 

He shook his head and said raggedly, “Those things you said, about how you feel about me? You might want to try leading with that next time.” 

“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry...” Aziraphale said wretchedly.

“Shhh,” Crowley said again, caressing Aziraphale’s cheek. “I know.” Crowley paused, looking at him, then slowly leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips against Aziraphale's, who stilled in shock, a tremor running through his body. Crowley slid his hands along Aziraphale’s face, into his hair, tilting his head to fit them closer together. The kiss started out hesitantly but slowly sank into a gentle press of moving lips before drawing apart. Aziraphale looked at Crowley with trepidations hope, not knowing what he should say or do next. 

“I haven’t forgiven you.” 

Aziraphale nodded, his heart plummeting, but soared upon hearing Crowley's next sentence, “But I will.” Aziraphale nodded again, smiling tumultuously through his tears. 

Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s brow. “Let’s go home angel.”

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. “Yes dear, I want that more than anything in the world. Although— perhaps you should clean up first? They might hesitate to let you on the plane, looking— and smelling— like that.”

Crowley slowly smiled. “Probably true.” He looked down and fished the flannel out of the water and contemplated it for a moment before holding it out, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Care to help me?”

_“Yes.”_ Aziraphale breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This story was inspired by some of the things I’ve read that have come out from the MeToo movement, in particular the stories from men. While it is certain that some men have been shown to be horrific predators of women, there have been other men who’ve said that as a result of the movement they’ve realized that they’ve been the perpetrators of dubious consent in the past that they now feel ashamed of. It was a different time, different expectations, they were culturally taught this was acceptable behavior, which doesn’t excuse the behavior but does make it more understandable. So I was interested in exploring that idea in this context, that sometimes good people do bad things out of ignorance, but can learn from their mistakes._


	3. Recovery- part 1

Their seats were miraculously upgraded to first class by the airline, which normally Aziraphale would have chided Crowley for. But he was grateful for the demon's manipulation later as Crowley seemed unusually tired and spent much of the flight sleeping, which was much more feasible to do in first class seats. Aziraphale had healed the bruises, abrasions, and other visible injuries but something still wasn’t right— the essence that he had become acutely familiar with over thousands of years was _off_ somehow, like wine just barely starting that downward slide into vinegar. He looked sidelong at Crowley, worried that he missed something, and placed his hand next to the demon’s on the armrest, not quite touching. To his surprise Crowley moved his fingers slightly, pressing against Aziraphale. A thrill hummed up his arm at the touch. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

Sunglasses tilted towards him. “I have been sometimes.” He yawned. “Tired.”

There was silence as Aziraphale looked down at their barely touching fingers.

“I can practically hear you worrying, angel.”

“Yes, well, you just don’t seem quite your normal self...”

“It’s normal, sort of… ” Crowley sighed and rubbed his forehead with his other hand. “So, there’s this thing… our corporations behave like human bodies in many ways, and I wasn’t sure at first, but I can tell now that there are going to be… side effects to stopping the drugs I was taking. I’m holding on for now, but it’s going to be a problem by the time we get home.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Side effects? What do you mean?”

Crowley grimaced. “Have you ever seen a drug addict go through withdrawal? I’ve helped mates out with it occasionally. It’s not pretty. I’ll manage, but....” he shrugged.

Aziraphale blinked. “Yes, I’ve spent time among the less fortunate with that particular affliction. Has this happened to you before?”

“No, but I’ve never taken so much for so long… maybe it’s because of that, maybe She’s making a point, I dunno.” He flicked a finger upwards. 

Aziraphale dared to slide his hand over Crowley’s, ready to pull back at the slightest sign of unease. “Whatever you need my dear, I’m here for you.”

“I know, angel. How much longer until we’re home?”

“Uh, we have a few more hours on the plane I think.”

“Okay, I think I can last that long. I can make myself sleep some more, makes it easier.”

Aziraphale nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and smooth the hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I’ll wake you when we land.”

By the time they got into the taxi, Crowley skin was damp with sweat and his hands were shaking. Aziraphale promised a very large tip to the driver if he ignored the speed limit.

“Do you want to go to your flat my dear?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course I won’t leave if you need me, I can stay at your flat as long as you need me.”

Crowley just shook his head again, so Aziraphale gave the driver the address to the bookshop. When they arrived Crowley's shaking had spread to the rest of his body and Aziraphale had to help him out of the car. Crowley’s arm slung over his shoulders, he supported him into the bookshop. Upon entering, Crowley pulled his sunglasses off and gazed around with a small smile. “It’s good to be home,” he murmured. A warm feeling suffused Aziraphale at the words but it quickly turned to alarm when Crowley bent over, grunting. 

“What can I do, tell me what to do,” he said urgently.

“Hurts. Need to lie down,” Crowley managed through gritted teeth. 

Aziraphale hurried them upstairs and helped Crowley to the bed. He hesitated, then helped him undress in a methodical manner, conjuring some pajamas from Crowley’s flat to change into. After Crowley shifted under the comforter Aziraphale went so far as to tuck the blanket around him, which earned him an eye roll from Crowley, then he stood and hovered anxiously.

“Go make some tea, angel,” Crowley mumbled into the pillow he was burrowed into.

“Oh, of course! What kind would you like?”

“It’s not for me, it’s for you. It helps you calm down.”

“Oh! Right, yes. Erm, I’ll be but a moment, do call if you need anything…”

The teacup rattled against the saucer as he set it down. He clasped his shaking hands and bowed his head. _Crowley was back._ When he had left on his search he had no real expectation that Crowley would actually come back, and no hope that he could possibly return his feelings… no, it was far too premature to make any assumptions in that direction, it was almost too much to dare to hope that he might be able to win Crowley's friendship back, no matter how undeserving he was. He was simultaneously elated, wanting to unfurl his wings and sing to the skies, and wanting to crawl into a dark hole filled with shame and regret because of the things he had done that had caused Crowley to leave. He had no idea how they were going to get past that… he took a deep breath. One step at a time. He reflected he was thankful he had a task to do, and one he was somewhat astonished at, actually taking care of Crowley which the demon had never needed, or at least never asked him for.

When he came back into the flat Crowley was sleeping. He went back downstairs to gather some books and miracle his armchair upstairs, then settled down next to the bed.

* * *

Crowley spent most of the next day sleeping although he tossed and turned restlessly. Aziraphale would occasionally untangle him from being twisted up in the bedding, during which Crowley would open his eyes briefly and reach out his hand as if to reassure himself that Aziraphale was actually there. Aziraphale would grasp his hand, his heart feeling like it was squeezing just as tightly as their hands before Crowley would let go and burrow into the covers again. 

Late that night; “Angel…” Crowley groaned. Aziraphale swiftly looked up from his book to see Crowley shaking. He hastily set down his book and bent over him. “What can I do my dear? What do you need?”

Crowley had his eyes squeezed shut. “Not… much… you can do…” His shaking hand crept out from underneath the blankets, reaching out which Aziraphale grasped readily. Crowley's fingers wrapped around him tightly, and then so slowly that at first Aziraphale thought he was imagining things, he found himself being steadily pulled towards the bed. He leaned forward, and when the pulling continued, he kneeled on the bed, looking at Crowley’s face uncertainly. The demon’s eyes were still squeezed shut, his face furrowed in pain but giving no indication as to what he might be thinking. Still looking at Crowley carefully, Aziraphale reached over to pull down the covers and shifted to slide underneath, lying alongside the shaking figure. Only then was his hand let go, and he held his breath in heady amazement as Crowley inched closer to him, fingers sliding across his waist, curling in against him with his head resting against his chest. 

Crowley’s hand dug into Aziraphale’s waist as his shaking increased, and Aziraphale slowly reached out to curve his own arm around the demon, letting out a shaky sigh when Crowley showed no sign of rejecting him. _Well, this is new,_ Aziraphale thought, stunned as as he gently caressed Crowley’s back. They were… cuddling was the only word he could come up with for it; although he rather suspected Crowley would be offended by that particular terminology.

The angel reached out with his senses and almost recoiled, the amount of pain Crowley was in was astonishing, it was a wonder he wasn’t screaming. He felt around the edges of it; it was beyond his ability to take away all of the pain but he could ease it… Crowley exhaled and relaxed into him although he continued shaking. His heart ached with distress. What else could he do?

He cleared his throat. “Um, did I ever tell you I read the book versions of those Star Wars movies you made me watch? They weren’t bad, actually, I do like classic good versus evil stories, of course with good triumphing in the end. I can see myself as a Yoda I think, dispensing sage advice to the promising young people of the world.”

Through his chattering teeth Crowley asked, “So does that make me Darth Vader?”

“Oh, no, you’re nothing like him. You’re more like… Han Solo I think. Arrogant, full of himself, sarcastic, handsome, the reluctant hero…”

Crowley chuckled. “I can live with that.” He pressed closer into Aziraphale, making his heart leap. “Do you still have the books?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you could… read one to me?”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, and after a beat said, “Of course.” He was reluctant to relinquish the embrace, but after one last caress along Crowley’s back he wiggled up to a sitting position, propping himself up on pillows. An elated smile curved his lips when Crowley squirmed up and hesitated, then slowly rested his head on Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale conjured up the first book and started to read. “Another galaxy, another time. The Old Republic was the Republic of legend, greater than distance or time. No need to note where it was or whence it came, only to know that…”

After some time he realized that Crowley’s shaking had stopped and looked down to see the demon had fallen asleep again. He set down the book and wrapped his arms around the body resting against him. Nothing short of the four horsemen arriving on his doorstep and threatening another Apocalypse could have dragged him away. Even then he was just as likely to give them a furious scolding and tell them they had bloody well come back at a more convenient time, thank you very much. 

* * *

When Crowley awoke he was drenched in sweat but didn’t feel as bad as he did before he fell asleep. He realized with some surprise and a measure of embarrassment he was still sprawled on top of Aziraphale. Unwilling to look up, he peered at the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. “Ugh. I need a shower,” he told the buttons.

The buttons slid upwards as Aziraphale stretched and then extricated himself to get out of bed. Crowley swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but his knees buckled as soon as he put weight on them. 

Aziraphale caught him. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I can do it. I think.” Crowley straightened up with an effort and willed himself to stay upright. After he was pretty sure he wouldn't collapse like a limp noodle, the took shambling steps to the bathroom, Aziraphale hovering by his side anxiously. 

Once the shower water was heated, Crowley removed his pajamas and glanced at Aziraphale, then away. “I might um, need help. Maybe you should come in with me?” _Nope, nothing weird about this at all. I always take showers with bloody fucking angels. Who keeps looking at me with big earnest blue eyes… yep… just another day in How in the Fucking Hell is this Happening?_

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Aziraphale tried not to feel self conscious as he undressed, despite the fact that Crowley was looking away. After he folded the last of his clothes into a neat pile he fidgeted awkwardly, then followed Crowley into the shower.

Aziraphale deliberately looked at the white tile, the shower curtain, the gleaming silver fixtures— anywhere but the nude body within arms reach. He stood uncertainly, suddenly quite sure this was a Very Bad Idea, then his eyes landed on the flannel and soap. He can do this, he was here to help, he can certainly put up with a little awkwardness. It’s not like he hadn’t seen plenty of naked bodies in his time. _Although none of them have been Crowley_ , his mind unhelpfully reminded him. Even that when they were intimate he hadn’t taken the time he should have to admire—no, no, no, he was _not_ going to think about that. 

Aziraphale stood there for a moment feeling like a useless git, then picked up the flannel and soap. “May I— ?” he said hesitantly, gesturing towards Crowley, with a sidelong glance.

Crowley gave a little half shrug and closed his eyes, which Aziraphale guessed was supposed to indicate agreement. He stared at Crowley’s bare chest, resolutely not looking down past his waist, but the idea of sliding his hands across that broad expanse of muscles seemed a bit much to dive into straightaway. “Erm, how about I start with your back?”

Without opening his eyes, Crowley obligingly turned around, the warm water now pattering down his front. Aziraphale soaped up the flannel and began briskly washing Crowley’s back. His imagination taunted him with images of an imagined different circumstance. _Slow sweeping glides of the flannel across soapy skin, lingering on curved buttocks, dipping into the groin, sliding between muscular thighs…_ He shook his head sharply in a fruitless attempt to banish the images, sternly telling himself to think of the body underneath the flannel as he would a patient. He had given plenty of bed baths to the infirm in his line of work without the slightest inclination towards amorous thoughts; surely he could shove those thoughts back firmly into his Pandora’s box of emotions, snatching hope as it was winging upwards to ruthlessly shove it in as well. He continued downward to wash the buttocks and back of legs in what he hoped was a professional manner. Once finished he reached for the shampoo, pouring some onto his palm. He eyed the back of Crowley’s head. “I, um, can wash your hair, if you’d like.” 

Crowley made a sound that was indistinguishable from a grunt and a confirmation, so after waiting a moment to see if he was going to form any actual words, Aziraphale raised his hands and began working the shampoo into auburn hair. Crowley tilted his head back as Aziraphale, massaged his fingers into the scalp so he was hopeful that was an indication he was appreciative of the actions. After some time he realized that he may have gone a little longer than strictly necessary with running his fingers through Crowley’s soapy hair and he reluctantly brought his hands back to his sides, saying “Okay, you can rinse off.”

Crowley didn’t move for a long movement, then with an exhale he turned around so they were facing. Despite his earlier resolution, Aziraphale couldn’t seem to stop his eyes from glancing downwards, and then his gaze stuttered to a stop at seeing to his astonishment that Crowley's cock was semi-erect, laying heavily against a thatch of curly red hair. Then, realizing he was staring, embarrassment flooded him and flushed his cheeks as he wrenched his gaze up to Crowley’s face, who was watching him with half lidded eyes. 

Crowley quirked a small smile at the edge of his lips. “This is not how I imagined what our first shower together would be like,” he murmured. “With me being too pathetically weak to do anything interesting about it.”

Aziraphale felt sure the sudden pounding of his heart would shake right out of his chest— _he had imagined showering with me?_ — and he held his breath as a tumultuous feeling of hope surged through him. His eyes traveled along the lean body in it’s glorious nudity before him. Glistening rivulets of water trailing down the muscular chest, dusky nipples framing dark curling chest hair tapering down to the flat abdomen. Crowley’s lovely cock laying thickly between sinewy thighs that seemed to swell further as his eyes lingered on it. Aziraphale’s hand raised up as if pulled forward on a puppet string towards that alluring body and he breathed out without thinking, “Heaven help me but you’re stunning. Such a gorgeous creature.”

Crowley’s breath caught in a gasping hitch, making him jolt back to his senses. He dropped his hand quickly, sharply turning away. The hot steam in the air suddenly seemed too thick to breathe comfortably, made worse by the all too familiar ache of shame and regret that rose up in his throat to choke him. He’d overstepped, he was here to help Crowley, not to— he reached down to pick up the flannel, rubbing far more soap into it that was strictly necessary. 

Crowley finally moved, slowly reaching his arm out and sliding long fingers under Aziraphale’s jaw, tugging his head up again until he reluctantly raised his eyes up to meet the gold ones gazing back at him. The fingers continued to tug, pulling Aziraphale’s face forward until he could feel Crowley’s breath against his cheek. He desperately wished he knew what Crowley was thinking as he continued to look at him unblinking. His expression appeared relaxed, nonchalant even to a casual observer but there was a coiled stillness radiating outwards that Aziraphale didn’t know how to interpret. He struggled to figure out what he should do next, and after an agonizing stretch of time opened his mouth to say something— he didn’t know what, but anything to break the charged silence— when Crowley unexpectedly moved forward and closed the distance, fitting their lips together and slipping his tongue in to move against Aziraphale’s, who instantly, helplessly, responded. Gone was the sweet slow hesitancy of Crowley’s kiss in Nepal, this time there was a hunger and fierceness to his lips that was new, present in the curl of the fingers on his jaw, the strong movements of the serpentine tongue moving against his, the pressure of the lips against his mouth. Aziraphale whined deep in his throat with longing, the soap and flannel falling from his hands as he wound his arms around Crowley to pull him closer, to finally feel that slick wet body against his own. He moved his hands down the water slicked back and then finally gave into the desire to feel his hands curve around the demon’s sinfully appealing buttocks when he felt Crowley tremble and then slide to the floor of the shower as his knees gave out. 

Aziraphale looked down in a daze before coming to his senses. “Oh my dear! You’ve worn yourself out! I— um— right then. Let me just help you finish washing up— no, no— stay sitting right there— and then I’ll get you back into bed. “ He quickly scrubbed the demon down methodically the rest of the way with the flannel and rinsed him off, then helped him up, hustling him out of the shower and into a towel. 

Crowley submitted to his ministrations in the shower wordlessly, but when Aziraphale tried to help him dress he yanked the pajamas away from him and put them on with shaking hands while Aziraphale toweled off and got dressed. When they emerged from the bathroom Crowley swayed and Aziraphale reached out to steady him but the demon hissed “I don’t need your help!” shaking off his hands so vigorously that he stumbled and almost fell, catching himself on the edge of the bed. 

“Clearly you don’t,” Aziraphale said dryly, but he let Crowley be, turning instead to pull the bedding down before retreating to his armchair. 

Shakily, Crowley pulled himself into the bed and curled up under the covers with his back to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale pretended to read while surreptitiously gazing at Crowley thoughtfully. The scene in the shower replayed as a looping mobius strip in his mind while he tried to pick it apart. He hadn’t the faintest idea what to make of it. He would rather submit to endless reruns of The Sound of Music interspersed with telethons than initiate a romantic overture to Crowley right now, but it was _Crowley_ who kissed him. And he seemed so angry afterwards— at what had happened in the shower? At Aziraphale? At going through withdrawal? He was so hard to read at times; for all he knew the demon could be angry at the existence of neon as a fashion choice.

Regretfully, now was not the time to have this conversation with Crowley, but when he was well… he prayed that there was hope for them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Credits of course go to Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, as well as Star Wars: From the Adventures of Luke Skywalker by Alan Dean Foster._
> 
> _A special thanks to all of you who have commented on this story, I appreciate each and every one of you._


	4. Recovery Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A bit of angst, a bit of fluffy tender care... hope you enjoy it._

Over the next few days Aziraphale was in his element, fussing over Crowley which the demon uncharacteristically allowed, changing sweat soaked sheets, reading out loud while Crowley was awake and watching over him while he slept. Crowley alternatively seemed to be accepting, perhaps even enjoying the tender care one moment and snarling and snapping the next with no predictability but Aziraphale took it all with calm acceptance. 

The nightmares started happening the second day and Aziraphale quickly learned that when Crowley’s face became drawn in his sleep, his hands twisted into claws in the bedding while he shook meant that he was in the throes of one, and he would hastily bend over the bed, gently shaking his shoulder. “Crowley, my dear, wake up, it’s all right.” 

Crowley would start awake and look at him with unfocused golden eyes dilated wide before blinking a few times and coming back to reality. He would never tell Aziraphale what he was dreaming of although at times he gripped the angel’s arms tightly after he woke, flexing his fingers while staring up at him with a panicked, lost expression. Those times Aziraphale wordlessly climbed into the bed with him and curled up against his back, arm held tightly around Crowley’s chest until the demon fell back asleep. 

Aziraphale brought endless amounts of tea up to the flat which he was convinced would help cure all ailments, and one afternoon was inspired to bring chicken soup. “Oh, please do try it dear," he coaxed the recalcitrant demon. "I’ve heard wonderful things about the restorative powers of chicken soup. You’re suffering from a human like ailment, it only makes sense to try human remedies.”

Crowley eyed the bowl suspiciously. “Ugh. You know I’m not that into food at the best of times and I’m even less interested when I feel like millipedes are mating with sluggish primordial goo in my insides.”

Aziraphale tried not to form the image of whatever _that_ would look like and continued to hold out the bowl pleadingly. “But you don’t know if it will help you or not unless you try it.”

Crowley looked at him mutinously, then with a huff of annoyance grabbed the bowl and began shoveling the contents into his mouth.

“Um, you might want to slow down my dear, I don’t think that—”

Crowley glared and mumbled around his food, “I’m eating the damn thing, aren’t I? Don’t need to be criticized on _how_ I eat it too.” In record time he finished the soup and thrust the bowl back to Aziraphale. “There. Now go and—” he stopped abruptly, a peculiar look spreading across his face.

Alarmed, Aziraphale’s hand flew to his mouth, recognizing the look he had seen on many infirm patient’s faces he had taken care of in the past. “Oh no,” he breathed.

Crowley put his hand to his stomach and sat up straighter, glaring at Aziraphale. “What?”

“Oh, I’m so _sorry_!”

A look of confusion passed over Crowley’s face. “What?” he asked again, and then his eyes went wide as he suddenly heaved and threw up the soup all over the bed. 

Aziraphale was on his feet instantly, rubbing Crowley's back as he retched, murmuring sympathetic words. After continuing to heave helplessly after the last bit of soup had been expelled Crowley finally stopped and flopped back down on the pillows, panting while Aziraphale miracled away the mess and wiped down his forehead with a cool cloth. He glared up at him, batting away his hand. 

“That was by far the _worst fucking thing_ I have ever experienced since I slithered up from Hell.”

“Yes, it does seem to be terribly unpleasant—“

“That’s the understatement of the fucking millennium,” he growled.

“Yes, I’m truly sorry, we’ll stick to tea until you’re feeling better.” Aziraphale said wretchedly.

Crowley suddenly flung the covers back and got out of bed, stalking over to his clothes folded on top of the dresser. Aziraphale frowned as he watched him put on his shirt. “What are you doing?”

“I’m so _fucking_ done with this!” Crowley exploded, putting on his clothes with quick angry movements. “Being sick, helpless, forcing you to— _ugh_ — take care of me as if I was a mewling infant. I hurt all over and did that _thing_ —” he shuddered. “I just need—I can’t take another Goddamned second of this.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, alarmed. “I sincerely hope you’re not implying that you’re going to leave to find more drugs to take, Crowley.”

“S’wot if I am? Doesn’t fucking matter.”

Aziraphale stepped forward and laid his hand firmly on Crowley’s arm. “No. Just—no. It does matter, it matters to me, you matter to me. You will get through this and I am here to help you. There is nowhere else I would rather be in the entire world right now than here with you.”

Crowley angrily tried to shake off Aziraphale’s hand and move towards the door but Aziraphale quickly sidestepped in front of him. Crowley glared at him, spitting out “Fuck _off_ Aziraphale!” and tried to move forward to shove past him but Aziraphale caught him and wrapped his arms around him tightly, pinning the demon’s arms to his sides. Crowley struggled to break free but Aziraphale held him effortlessly, his heart pounding but _knowing_ that if he let Crowley walk out that door he would be right back where they had started. And he couldn't let Crowley do that to himself, even at the cost of of losing whatever gains he had made in mending the chasm between them. After straining, twisting, snarling and hissing to no avail Crowley threw his head back and gave a great wordless yell, screaming raw fury to the skies. Demonic rage pulsed outward from the raging body in his arms, slamming through the room, shaking the furniture and rattling the windows which threatened to shatter until Aziraphale made quick motion with his hand, the glass settling back into their frames. Tears sprang to Aziraphale’s eyes as he continued to hold the thrashing demon firmly against him. As the yell trailed off the rigidity ebbed out of Crowley’s frame and he slumped forward limply, his head falling down against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

After long moments where Crowley remained motionless except for shuddering breaths, Aziraphale tentatively loosened his grip and brought a trembling hand up to stroke Crowley’s back. They stayed that way for an indeterminate amount of time in heavy silence before Crowley stirred and mumbled indistinctly into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“What’s that, my dear?” he whispered.

“I hate—”

Stricken, Aziraphale filled in the rest of the sentence in his head— _you_. He closed his eyes, willing himself with all his strength not to break down crying. 

Then Crowley finished his sentence. “—this. Feeling this way.”

Aziraphale shuddered in relief and said softly, “Yes. I’m so sorry. For—for everything.”

“Yeah.” Crowley exhaled a long shaking breath and lifted his head slowly as if it was a great ponderous weight, his eyes downcast. “I’ll go back to bed.”

Aziraphale reluctantly let go and stood back. As Crowley started undressing to change back into his pajamas Aziraphale looked away, feeling unbearably awkward and intrusive. He turned towards the door. “I’ll, uh, go make some fresh tea.” He walked to the doorway in a daze and paused, tilting his head back. “Er, you’re—you’ll be here when I get back, right?”

“Yes angel, I’ll be here,” came the tired reply.

Aziraphale hesitated. 

He heard a sigh behind him. “I promise.”

He gave a brief nod and went downstairs. As he set the kettle to boil he took his time washing dishes at the sink, finding some measure of calm in the routine task. His emotions were in raging turmoil; he could barely form coherent thoughts. He had never physically fought with Crowley, restraining him in any way was a line he had never even considered crossing before. He would do it again in an instant in the same circumstance, but _forcing_ his will upon Crowley— did that further prove to the demon what a monster Aziraphale was? Just as he was feeling desperate hope that maybe there was a new tenderness developing, that they could be closing the jagged rift that still stretched dark and biting with teeth between them, _this_ happened which had the potential to make that divide unreachable.

How welcome will he be when he returns upstairs? Perhaps he should give Crowley some space, he was probably hovering too much as it was, maybe that was part of what pushed Crowley over the edge. Although certainly the vomiting didn’t help, he shuddered to think of experiencing for himself such a thing that really does look like one of the more dreadful things the human body is forced to endure.

He dithered around the bookshop over the next couple of hours, too aware of the occupant upstairs to be able to turn to his usual escape of burying himself in a book, before he finally gave up and put together a tray of tea as an excuse to see if Crowley wanted some. The stairs seemed to stretch on forever as his reluctant legs pulled him upwards. He took a deep breath just before entering the room, determined to appear calm despite the anxiety fluttering within him like erratic drunken bats. As he entered the room he saw Crowley in bed sitting partially upright, eyes closed, hands holding an open book. When Aziraphale cleared his throat Crowley jerked, his eyes flying open and he made a furtive attempt to hide the book before apparently realizing that Aziraphale already saw it. 

“I should put a bell on you if you’re going to be sneaking around,” Crowley groused. 

“Oh, so you’d like to put a collar on me?” Aziraphale said lightly in a deliberate attempt to be casual.

Crowley stared at him and sputtered, “What? I— oh, shut up,” he said without rancor, a blush staining his cheeks. 

Aziraphale managed not to fall to the floor in relief as the atmosphere between them lightened. Still tiptoeing across the sharp eggshells of unspoken words, he set the tray down and cast about for something neutral to say. He glanced at the book on Crowley’s lap. “Reading some more Star Wars I see.”

For some reason Crowley looked uncomfortable. “A bit. Kind of hard to concentrate on the pages.” He lifted his arms to show shaking hands. 

Aziraphale smiled tentatively. This was something he could do, and do well. “I'd love to read it to you, my dear. If you’d like.”

“Yeah, whatever, if you want to.” Crowley said, his tone seeming to indicate he couldn’t be bothered to care one way or another. Aziraphale started to settle in the armchair but was startled to see Crowley scooting over in the bed and pulling the covers back in clear invitation, his eyes fixed on the book in his hand. 

A rush of emotion Aziraphale couldn’t quite identify threatened to send him to his knees. Was it relief? Happiness? Anxiety? Sorrow? A juxtaposition of all of those emotions fighting like Roman gladiators for dominance? He set his teacup on the nightstand with minutely trembling hands and slid under the covers, trying not to seem too eager. He scooted in next to, but carefully not touching the demon, took the book that was handed to him wordlessly and began to read out loud. _“As See-Threepio descended into the belly of the shadow, he muttered quietly to the silent R2 unit, “Artoo, I have a bad feeling about this...”_

For some time Crowley sat unmoving next to him, then gradually slumped downward as if unrestrained by the inconvenience of bones until he was more or less lying down. Gradually Aziraphale realized that each few turns of the pages Crowley was slowly scooting closer without seeming to move. He continued to read, giving no outward sign that he noticed. He was reminded of an alley cat he befriended in Rome once, a feral thing that hissed and spat if you so much as looked at it. But if he sat still enough, for long enough, the creature would slink its way by slivers into his lap, eventually settling down with a reluctant purr. However, if he dared to notice its stealthy movements in any way before it achieved its goal he got sharp scratches and a fleeting furry blur for his troubles. 

As the pages turned Crowley worked his way over until pressed up against Aziraphale’s side, who obligingly moved his arm up and out of the way but then had to hold his book up at an awkward angle. When Crowley didn’t move for a while Aziraphale finally paused and said “You know my dear, this would be easier for me if you scooted in more.”

With a shivery exhale, Crowley slithered onto Aziraphale in one smooth motion, settling his head on his chest, sliding his arm over Aziraphale's waist before stilling. Aziraphale circled his arms around Crowley, propping the book up and opened his mouth to continue reading out loud, but found his throat locked up tight with the intensity of the feelings surging through him. Despite his fears that Crowley would resent him, even hate him for physically holding him back from leaving, here he was, wrapped around him in a trusting intimacy that took his breath away. He mused that it would feel odd, uncomfortable even, to feel any other body pressed so closely against his, but he felt as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to seek, grasp, pull Crowley to him, into him almost until there was no knowing of where one of them ended and the other began, anything to recreate this sensation of contentment, of belonging, of _right_ that he felt with Crowley in his arms.

He had no idea how much time had passed while he was overwhelmed, unable to speak, eyes squeezed shut. As the crashing wave of his emotions ebbed he realized he had been holding Crowley against him tightly and that in return Crowley was pressed against him just as strongly, his thumb rubbing slow circles against Aziraphale's side. All right then. He had to get ahold of himself. One, two, three slow breaths, and then he loosened his arms, Crowley relaxing against him. He opened his mouth. “Crowley…” he trailed off, wanting to ask about what Crowley was feeling, more specifically what he felt about them, or maybe for once share his own feelings as he was well aware the lack of doing so was partly what got them into this shattered mess in the first place.

But talking about feelings felt dangerous, like the wrong words could destroy this moment, this intimacy he had become addicted to just as much as Crowley had become addicted to the drugs he had poured into his corporation. Whatever words he might have said faded away as he lifted the book. “Right then, where were we? Ah yes…” He resumed reading out loud about great rolling dramas set among the stars, a fantasy that was far safer than addressing the very real drama present in the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Book credit: Return of the Jedi novelization by James Kahn, 1983._


	5. Departure

Over the next few days Crowley grew stronger and more alert. The nightmares subsided, the shaking lessened, and he was able to shower on his own to Aziraphale’s well hidden disappointment. He left Crowley in the shower one day and went downstairs, gliding his hand along the spines of the books on his bookshelves without seeing them, shamelessly reliving a particular recent memory... _the lean naked body with streams of water trickling against glistening skin, that mouth against his, that serpentine tongue flicking against his own, feeling the sharp angles of those hips underneath his hands…_ his cock twitched, demanding attention and he opened his eyes with an exhale, half wishing he could work on his own release but aside from the risk of Crowley wandering downstairs he was also hesitant about the moral implications of fantasizing about someone that he was quite uncertain as to if they would be appreciative of the thoughts. 

He desperately tried to think of something else to focus on. Crowley was feeling better, perhaps he would be up to playing something like cards or mah jongg to pass the time. It sounded like the shower was over, so he went upstairs to suggest playing a game but stopped abruptly at the doorway, his feet stuck as if caught in warm tar, icy shock crashing through his veins at the sight of Crowley fully dressed, standing by the window looking outside, the exact vision Aziraphale woken up to see those many months—years? ago. 

But as Crowley heard him come in and turned towards him his numbed mind picked out differences. His golden eyes were still uncovered by sunglasses and looked at him with warmth instead of icy blankness, which quickly turned to concern as he took in Aziraphale’s expression, and then he was walking towards him, his hand out, and then actually touching him, his hand warm against his arm. 

“Angel? What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale looked down at the hand on his arm as his vision blurred. “I— are you leaving me?” he blurted out. After all this time together he had been hoping, so desperately hoping and now his hope was going to be walking out his door in snakeskin boots. He struggled not to break down but hot tears escaped his eyes.

Crowley was silent for a moment. “No. Not in the way I think you mean. I’m better now, you know that, and it’s time I go back to my flat.”

Aziraphale concentrated on the words. Right. He was overreacting, being ridiculous. He was made of stronger stuff than this, he was a Principality for goodness sake, it simply wouldn't do for him to fall apart just because Crowley wanted to resume his life. He would still be in London, they can still see each other— wait, did Crowley want to still see him? He had implied, but didn’t actually say…

“Right, of course.” Aziraphale tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes although of course Crowley had to have noticed, he was standing right in front of him for Heaven’s sake. He had to be direct for once, had to ask, if Crowley walked out that door without knowing if he would be coming back he knew he would spiral back into self loathing and doubt. Summoning his resolve he looked up into Crowley’s eyes. 

“Will you come back to see me? Or we could go out for dinner sometimes? That— that is, if you want to, I mean, I would very much like to see you again. Yes.” Ugh, not the most eloquent combination of words he could have managed to string together but he supposed it got the point across. It’s not as if the time was right to spout romantic poetry at him, no matter how fitting _Thou art to me a delicious torment_ felt right now. 

“Yesss…” Aziraphale was gratified to see that Crowley seemed to be struggling with his own emotions as well. Crowley leaned forward and for a heart stopping moment he thought he was going to kiss him again, but he merely rested his forehead against Aziraphale's. 

“Yesss, I want to see you again. Thisss won’t be easy, thingsss aren’t fixed between usss, but maybe they can be.”

“Oh my dear," Aziraphale whispered earnestly. “I want nothing more.” He moved his hands to Crowley’s sides. They stood for a moment in silence, then Crowley pulled back and they went downstairs, pausing to stand by the front door awkwardly. 

Aziraphale tried to think of something to say to nudge at the edges of so much unsaid between them. “I know this must have been so hard to do, coming back here, recovering from your, ah, physical dependence, but I admire how strong you’ve been. I’m very proud of you.” He flushed, aware that may have come out condescending. “Ah, not that you need my approval of course, I just— well.” He twisted his hands together nervously under Crowley’s steady gaze. The demon didn’t seem offended, but he was staring at him with an intensity Aziraphale didn’t know how to interpret. 

Neither of them made a move to open the door. Something statically electric hovered in the air between them pushing at the charged silence. Was he imagining the subtle lean of the demon towards him? The heat in his eyes? Aziraphale hesitated, then said softly, “My dear boy. I was wondering, this may be too forward, you don’t have to— but I’d like— if you want—’’ Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, waiting, then Aziraphale managed in a rush “May I kiss you goodbye?” 

Crowley tilted his head, considering. “Mmm. I’d like that.” 

Aziraphale felt as if it was against all reason that his feet were still touching the ground as relief poured through him and he grinned foolishly at the demon. Crowley smiled back at him, the thick tension between them finally easing. After an indeterminate time of them smiling like idiots at each other Crowley cleared his throat and said “So, are you just going to leave me hanging here with suspense, or—?” 

Aziraphale laughed, giddy, and he leaned forward to gently pressed his lips to the corner of Crowley’s mouth, then the other side, before lightly sliding his lips across with the barest of contacts. He paused when Crowley growled, “You call that a kiss?”, to which he responded, “Oh, you irresistibly gorgeous fiend. I’m just getting started. Unless you think you can do better?” Crowley opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was lost as Aziraphale pressed their lips together, swallowing whatever snarky comment was about to be made, putting that impudent mouth to much better use in his opinion. 

He had intended the kiss to be short, gentle, loving, but Crowley responded to him with an intensity that took him by surprise, the demon’s mouth pressing into him, his tongue moving in heatedly and twining with his own, slender fingers rising up to push alongside his face then almost aggressively into the curls of his hair, all of which drove his own passion into a fever pitch far more quickly than he had intended. The effort of firmly repressing his physical desires when that lean, sinfully attractive body was pressed against him in the bed, the guilt at still feeling those desires at all, his deep yearning for Crowley he'd felt for so long all ignited and flowed together as molten magma, pouring deep inside him as he developed an erection with a suddenness that caused him to emit a gasping moan. His fingers dug into the side of Crowley’s chest, to his waist, pulling their bodies closer, seeking that delicious friction against a hard thigh. As they were kissing, and kissing, hungrily moving against each other he was barely aware that his hands had moved until he suddenly realized that his fingers were on the waistband of Crowley’s jeans, peeling the curl of denim downward over the button… _wait, no—what the Hell am I doing?!_

He broke off the kiss, panting, shaking with desire. Too fast, he knew that, it wouldn't do to rush things. He was going to do his utmost not to ruin this second chance Crowley had gifted him, no matter how much he didn’t deserve it. He looked into Crowley's eyes, suddenly terrified of Crowley’s reaction but to his relief the slit pupils were dilated wide with desire and that Crowley too, was breathing heavily, looking intently back at him. He wondered if Crowley would have allowed him to undress him, to take him back to bed, to claim every sweep of exposed skin with his mouth... 

He quickly slid the silver button back into place and stepped back out of reach to keep himself from throwing himself on the demon like a lovesick lunatic, clasping his trembling hands tightly together. “Well then. I ah, perhaps you would like to meet for dinner later this week? Or next? Do you want to call me when you’re ready?” _I’m giving you an out, letting you set the pace._

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets— Aziraphale marveling a little that he could manage to wiggle his digits in there at all considering how tight they were— and took a breath. “Yeah, sure, maybe I’ll— fuck. No.”

Aziraphale looked at him, confused. 

Crowley said in a rush, “I don’t want to wait until next week to see you, I don’t want to wonder if I should or shouldn't call. I want to see you tomorrow. For dinner. You decide where, I don’t care. Pick you up at six?”

Oh! Aziraphale barely managed to restrain himself from launching himself at Crowley again and showering him with kisses. He squeezed his hands together even more firmly and settled with nodding and smiling. “Yes, that will be lovely. I’ll walk you out.”

This time, as Crowley left the bookshop he gave him the barest of smiles curving the edge of his lips. This time he turned to look back before disappearing into the bustle of the sidewalk traffic. This time, as Aziraphale stood on the stoop of the shop looking after the flame haired figure long after he was gone, there was hope. 

* * *

As Crowley walked down the hallway to his flat he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Oh, you’re back?”

He turned with a smirk. “Yes, Adelaide, that does appear to be the case.”

She looked at him disapprovingly. She had never figured out how he found out her full first name. When she was a girl she had only been called called Addie, never Adelaide, and when she once told him pointedly that young people called her Mrs. Harrison he merely responded “Is that so?”, giving her the distinct impression that he was laughing at her behind his ever present sunglasses. She suspected he continued to call her Adelaide just to annoy her. But, as he would take heavy shopping bags from her without asking and bring them into her flat she let it slide. She shuffled forward, digging into her purse. “I suppose you’ll be wanting this back then.” she said, holding out a key.

He looked at the key, then back to her with a look of confusion. 

“Didn’t he tell you he gave me your key? Your friend, Mr. Fell? He asked me to take over watering your plants when he had to go on a trip a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, right. I uh, forgot. Thanks.” He took the key and walked to his door. Mindful of his neighbor’s gaze he actually used it to unlock his door, which he found a bit amusing as he didn’t think a key actually existed for his door more than a few weeks ago. It felt strange to step into his flat after thinking nothing short of God herself would be able to drag him back, and even then he was pretty likely to tell Her to fuck right off. He didn’t have any particular attachment to the flat, it was more of a place to go to when the entertainment of the outside world was insufficient or he figured he was probably hanging out too much at the bookshop… his mind skittered away at that, not ready to think too much about that yet.

Adelaide mentioned something about his plants… he walked over to the room where he kept them and took in the lush green foliage. They were one of the few things he had felt a twinge of regret leaving, some of the plants he had kept growing for decades and he had known they would be long shriveled and gone by the time he returned, if he ever did. Running his fingers over a broad glossy leaf he saw they looked well and tenderly cared for, making him think of how he had been cared for a short time ago… he shook his head sharply with a scowl. 

When he woke up in the hotel room in Nepal the innermost parts of his broken aching self recognized that he had gone too far, that he needed to heal his physical form. He could have, should have, done that on his own, alone as always, but of course in his weakened state he slunk back to Aziraphale the instant he showed up, never able to resist the angel in the best of times. And he had clung to his typical well honed determination of avoiding confrontations of feelings, squirrely inconvenient things that coiled writhing in his gut, to steadfastly avoid thinking about what had caused him to run. But now that he was away from Aziraphale that determination was crumbling, spiderweb fractures skittering across brittle glass.

He turned abruptly to leave the room but as he caught a hint of wilt from the corner of his eye he paused. “I’ve been gone for a while so I understand you’ve gotten used to his soft treatment of you,” he said quietly. “But I’m back now and I will not tolerate further weakness. I can understand why you’re drawn to him, how easy it is to bask in his radiance that you need like sunshine. But you should know that he doesn’t believe that you’re any more _special_ than any other plant, he finds pleasure in tending you, touching you, but don’t think for a minute that it means something because you’ll find yourself yearning for more and you will get _nothing_ but despair.” 

He leaned back against the doorway, sliding down onto the floor. “But you can’t stop wanting to be near him, can you? To feel his hands against your leaves— _ngk—fuck_ —it feels so good, doesn’t it? When he’s touching you can you pretend that everything is okay, that he didn’t betray you? Do you think if you pretend hard enough you can forget?” 

He dropped his head into his hands, unmoving as the last rays of the sun gave way to the night and darkness fell as a shroud around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm a bit apologetic about the ending; I wrote the bulk of this story well before the world’s current events around the Covid 19 and imagine that reading happy things right now is more satisfying than sad. There is more angst to come-- the next chapter's a doozy-- but rest assured that I will never give these boys a sad ending, so that’s something to look forward to._
> 
> _On the other hand, I'm a nurse who is going into work at a hospital, so I just may have a bit of angst myself to work through in my writing. Stay safe everyone._


	6. Anger Management

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Be warned, there’s another dubious consent scene in this chapter. It’s not too bad though. I think._

Aziraphale felt restless, unable to settle on something to keep him occupied. The time he had spent caring for Crowley seemed like a bubble of time had stopped, a soft cocoon enveloping them from the outside world. Now that bubble had burst and he keenly felt Crowley’s absence. He desperately wanted to chase after the intimacy that had been developing between them, wanted to know if Crowley felt the same pull, the same yearning he felt but couldn’t find the courage to ask. 

Unable to stand the walls of the bookshop any longer, he left to wander in an open air market, finding some comfort in the humanity he passed by; easing arthritic pains of an elderly man, blessing a young couple gazing at each other with that secret smile of love, bolstering the confidence of an anxious new graduate nurse, making the flowers bloom brighter at the florist’s stand— little things that increased the overall feeling of happiness on a bright morning. The heavy weight of his shame and despair had lifted, and although he knew things weren’t resolved between the two of them he had hope that lightened his step and put a smile on his lips. 

He thought about their last kiss and his smile turned into a grimace. After taking advantage so shamefully of Crowley he almost did it again, pushing things too far, too fast. And Crowley was not fully recovered, which made his actions even more reprehensible to push himself on him in his weakened state. No, he had to be stronger than this, let Crowley set the pace, assuming he even wanted to progress this new side of their relationship. He certainly seemed interested, but of course if he wasn’t Aziraphale would still be so happy to have him as part of his life, even if it was only as a friend… but the raw _heat_ with which Crowley responded to his kiss, surely that meant…

Aziraphale ran his hands through his hair in frustration. His thoughts were going around in circles. Dinner. They were going to see each other for dinner, Crowley had even suggested it, that’s a good sign, right? He would be calm, hide his turmoiled thoughts, see how dinner went, and take it from there. 

Aziraphale adjusted his bow tie for perhaps the twentieth time. Crowley was late. Although he was always considered it a matter of pride to be a bit fashionably late it was nearing an hour past the time when Crowley said he would pick him up. Aziraphale’s hand moved to hover over the phone, desperately wanting to call to check to see if Crowley had changed his mind, but didn’t want to seem needy, or worse, pushy. He had just given in to curl his fingers around the handset when he finally heard the familiar engine rumble outside his shop and he eagerly rushed outside, locking the door behind him before turning to great Crowley with a bright smile. To his surprise Crowley was still in the car, so Aziraphale walked to the driver’s side and peered in uncertainly. Crowley glanced over and gestured him in, so he opened the door and slid onto the seat.

There was a pause, then Crowley said, “So. Where to?”

Aziraphale gave him a tentative smile. “I was thinking of that French restaurant that had the most delectable chocolate soufflé— do you remember the one? Even you seemed to be impressed, you actually ate almost all of it so I was thinking you might like to go there again. Of course, if you’d rather go somewhere else it’s perfectly fine by me.”

Crowley rolled a shoulder vaguely upwards and said, “It’s fine,” pulling the Bentley out into the evening traffic. 

Aziraphale’s sinking feeling of uncertainty increased, dark chains wrapping around his heart and pulling it downwards to his feet. Were his own anxieties misinterpreting the short response and the sunglasses fixed on the windshield? But when had he ever seen Crowley pay this close of attention to the actual mechanics of driving? He opened his mouth, then promptly closed it again, not knowing what to say, or, more accurately, afraid of the response. 

As they were seated for dinner Aziraphale perked up a little, at least talking about menu options was a topic that was safe and one he could spout endless sonnets about. But as he tried to engage Crowley, “Ooo, Coq au vin, I think I recall that you had that last time my dear, did you like it?” “Should we stick to our traditional Bordeaux or be daring and try a Syrah? They can be delightful but maybe not be a good pairing for a heavier dish, what do you think?”, his attempts were answered by polite responses that seemed to be vying for the award of Least Syllables Uttered. 

“Yes.” “Whatever you want, angel.” “That’s fine.” “Mmph.”

Aziraphale fell silent after dinner was ordered, fiddling with his napkin and trying not to cast Crowley surreptitious glances, who steadily sipped his wine and looked out at the other diners, one leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping. 

Once dinner arrived Aziraphale tried again, keeping the conversation to everyday topics but it quickly petered out several times after polite minimal responses. A headache started behind his eyes—when was the last time he had a headache? He couldn’t remember, although it was likely the one of the last times Gabriel lectured him on his inadequacies. He could barely eat any of his meal, spending most of the time moving the food around on his plate, and even declined the dessert menu the waiter offered, which Aziraphale noticed miserably Crowley didn’t even bat an eye at. 

By the time they arrived back at the bookshop the headache was growing sharper from the effort of fighting back tears. He tried one last time, knowing that desperation was bleeding out of his voice but helpless to stop it. 

“Do— would you like to come in, my dear? I—I have your favorite Scotch; it’s a bit strong on the peat for my taste but I know how much you like it…” 

Crowley finally turned to look at him, eyes still obscured by the sunglasses he’d left on the entire evening. There was a charged pause that seemed to push between them, a pulsatile hovering that seemed to waver as Crowley regarded him. For the briefest moment Aziraphale thought he might accept, and hope flared in his chest, but then the moment collapsed as Crowley turned away.

“Nah. Got things to do.”

Hope can be a tender thing, a delicate blossom whose edges shrivel black and curl inward as it is suffocated. Aziraphale struggled to take a breath, dimly wondering why he felt he needed to. As if he was an outside observer, he heard himself say in a weak voice, “Right. Of course. Erm, do let me know when you’d like to meet up again would you? Or of course you can pop right over anytime you fancy, you’re always welcome.” 

He waited a beat to see if Crowley would say anything, and when the demon remained silent his body went through the motions required to get out of the car and walk jerkily into the bookshop as if pulled on marionette strings. He then watched from the window, his fingers pressed to the glass, as Crowley sat in the Bentley outside of the shop for close to an hour before driving away. 

* * *

A week passed, then as the days started to slide into yet another week with no call or visit, Aziraphale’s resolve to let Crowley make the next move shattered and he found himself knocking on the door to Crowley’s flat. There was no answer initially but he could sense the demon’s presence inside so he kept knocking, harder and more insistently. _We have to talk, really talk this time, if I can tell him how I feel, if I can kneel at his feet and beg his forgiveness, maybe I can fix this, oh Lord, if you are listening, please let it not be too late._ His hand was raised to knock yet again when the door was yanked open and he was greeted with the sight of Crowley dripping wet, naked except for a plush black towel wrapped around his waist. Aziraphale’s mouth went dry. Crowley looked at him with an unreadable expression and stepped to the side, holding the door open. As Aziraphale stepped in Crowley closed the door. 

“What do you want, Aziraphale?” His voice was void of any intonation that could give a hint to what he was feeling.

 _You._ No, he couldn’t say that. Why were things suddenly so awkward between them? Where did that closeness, that intimacy go they had when Crowley first came back? He had the impulse to deflect yet again, to say he just was in the neighborhood, thought he would stop by to invite him out, maybe to dinner, or to an art show… but that wasn’t really what he wanted. They’ve never been good at talking about their feelings and in fact spent thousands of years actively avoiding those types of discussions. That long of a habit was like an immovable glacier, locking all secrets beneath its icy surface. He cleared his throat, determined to make an effort, and looked into Crowley's inscrutable eyes. “Well, the thing is, I’ve missed you very much.“

Crowley’s eyes widened a little but he remained silent. Aziraphale's hands fluttered, uncertain where to go from here. He reached out to Crowley’s arm, distracted briefly by the drops of water dripping from his dark curling hair and running down dark pebbled nipples. The memory of their time in the shower flooded him. _Crowley’s mouth moving hungrily against his, hands sliding over wet skin…_ he wrenched his eyes back up to Crowley’s face. He knew that Crowley had desired him, and treasured how willingly Crowley had curled around him when they were in bed together. He thought longingly of the closeness he thought they had been developing between them. He was at a loss to understand how everything changed so quickly and his very bones ached with the need to regain what they had. 

“Crowley. I—I was very happy during the time we spent together recently and I was hoping that you felt the same way, erm, aside from being sick of course, I mean about me. I can’t stop thinking about how I felt with you in my arms, it felt so _right_ and I was hoping…” he trailed off. 

Crowley said slowly, “Hoping what? To have sex with me again? Is that what you want?”

Startled, Aziraphale pulled his hand away from Crowley’s arm. “What? No, that’s not what this is about. I mean, well, I—" he took a deep breath. "I’m trying to be honest with you, so um, yes, I want that, but that’s not—“

“I can sseensse your lussst for me.” Crowley interrupted, taking a step forward. His mouth pressed tightly together and his eyes gleamed with a feral intensity.

A cold fissure trickled down Aziraphale’s spine, stretching icy tendrils into his chest as he took a step back, eyes wide. “That’s— that’s not what I came here for,” he said breathlessly.

“Are you sure? You don’t want to bend me over, your hands gripping my hips while you thrust into me?” he growled, taking another step forward. 

The icy feeling expanded, pushing at the confines of his suddenly too tight skin. Aziraphale turned, reaching for the door handle. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry.” A gasp of surprise flew from him as he suddenly felt Crowley up against his back, pressing him hard up against the door, his hands gripping his hips. 

Crowley leaned his head forward, pushing his body against Aziraphale’s back, his breath hot against his ear, raising goosebumps on his neck. “You’re sssorry? For what? For lusssting after me? For wanting to do thisss to me?” He thrust his hips forward, grinding his pelvis against Aziraphale’s backside. 

Aziraphale stilled underneath Crowley, his heart racing, and whispered “I’ll do whatever you want, please, _please_ , just tell me what you need from me.”

“What I need? Don’t you just take what you need? Do you have to be the top? Or maybe you want to think about what _I_ need for a change? Maybe _I_ need to bend you over and take you until you scream my name, would you like that?” he snarled, continuing to push his hips hard into Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale’s hands fisted against the door. Crowley was wild against him, like a feral beast, this felt so very wrong even as his body responded against his will, aching for so long to be touched by the demon that even this was making his pulse quicken and his cock stir. He had no idea what the right answer was in this situation so he opted for honesty. “Yes, I would like that.” he whispered miserably.

Crowley growled and dug his fingers into the flesh at Aziraphale's hips, pulling him back into his grinding pelvis as he rutted faster against him. His mouth moved down to the angel’s neck, sucking and biting there which made Aziraphale cry out, his head falling back. His cock swelled, aching to be touched but he didn’t dare move his hands from where they were braced on the door. This was all wrong— perhaps if he just look into Crowley’s eyes, kiss him tenderly he could change the angry tone, he could give Crowley what he seemed to need but with love, with gentle caresses to soothe the beast raging against him. He tried to turn but Crowley threw his forearm up against his back, slamming him against the door.

Tears pricked at his eyes. “Crowley, _please_.”

“Please what?” Crowley snarled. “Please stop? Did you stop when I asked you to? Or did you _take_ , and _take_ , and _take_ —“ his hips slammed against Aziraphale with the words, his towel coming undone. He threw the towel to the floor and ground naked against the angel even harder, forearm pressed hard into his back, the other hand clamped on Aziraphale’s hip, breath coming faster in great snarling shuddering gasps until he hoarsely cried out, fingers digging into Aziraphale’s hip bruisingly as he pumped against him. 

Aziraphale leaned his head against the door as sounds of their heavy breathing faded. He felt no shame at the act itself and had certainly indulged in the occasional fantasy of being dominated by Crowley in ways very similar, but it was never like this in his fantasies, with no edge of love, no tenderness, only raging cold anger and a means to an end. 

He felt the pressure on his back leave as Crowley stepped back. Aziraphale slowly turned to face him. Crowley stared down at the floor, then bent down to pick up the towel and held it in front of him like a shield. He looked up and their eyes locked for an instant— Crowley's eyes were wide, slit pupils blown— before Crowley abruptly turned his head to the side.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale choked out. He was at an utter loss as to what he could possibly say. Tears suddenly blurred his vision. “I’m so very sorry my dearest love,” he whispered brokenly. As his tears fell he turned to open the door and left. As he walked away he heard the sound of something shattering loudly in the flat and he paused partway down the hall, daring to hope Crowley would come after him. After waiting in vain his shoulders slumped and he resumed walking with his head bowed, heavy pain twisting, writhing inside him with the knowledge that he may have lost Crowley forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I’m a bit sorry to post such a heavy chapter in the midst of what the world is going through right now, but I wrote the bulk of this story long before current events so here you go._


	7. A Flutter of Hearts

Time passed, winter reluctant to give up it’s supremacy to spring. As the damp clutched the air and the last of stubbornly tenacious leaves fell, Aziraphale managed to rouse himself from his heavy despondency and resumed randomly opening his bookshop, rounding in soup kitchens, taking walks to look for opportunities to dispense small blessings; anything he could think of to try to distract his thoughts from endlessly circling back to Crowley. He could feel the demon was still in London, and when his crushing _need_ became too much to bear he tracked Crowley down to see him from as far away as he could manage to reassure himself that he looked well, he looked safe, his own fevered aching ebbing to barely a tolerable level prickling underneath his veneer of self control before fading back into the crowds. 

And if in the dark of night, when London quieted and the distractions weren’t enough, if no one was around to see him curled into himself on his bed, weeping, then perhaps it didn’t happen.

He had a lot of time to think. Since Crowley fell from Heaven who was there that he could trust, that he could feel any sort of affection from? Certainly not from the denizens of Hell, he was considered the enemy of Heaven, and humans had such tragically short lives that any affection from them was fleeting… he realized with a sort of floundering sinking feeling in his chest that he was quite likely the one entity in all of existence Crowley had grown to trust. And how did he repay the trust of a beloved friend who had managed to survive the crushing rejection of the Almighty herself? He practically _forced_ him into intimacy, into something that could have been— should have been a loving, tender, _mutual_ expression of love but was instead full of lust, betrayal, hurt— if he could rend his own wings from his back in repentance he would, rip every feather to the ground to banish any sign that he was supposedly an angelic being. 

They had never worked out the hurt he had caused, and he was the worse sort of fool to think that when Crowley came back they could simply go back to the way things were. He had tried to show his love for the demon in his actions when caring for him, but upon replaying the days in his mind that Crowley had spent recovering with him, he realized he hadn’t said the words along with the actions since they came back to London, hadn’t tried to make him understand the depth of his love, of his regret and sorrow for what he had done. They were paying the price of that mistake now, but he couldn’t bring himself to contact Crowley again after what happened last time. The demon was still clearly hurt and angry and he was at a loss on how to repair the damage he’d done. 

As his feet took him aimlessly through SoHo one afternoon he passed by the window of a bookshop that sold much more modern and trendy books that he would ever allow to cross the threshold of his shop. The window display caught his eye, a jumble of cardboard rosy cheeked infant cupids and lacy glittering pink hearts competing for the award of Most Saccharine, surrounding books with titles like _Relationship Workbook, Essential Conversations for a Lifetime of Love, Getting the Love You Want_. He raised an eyebrow at _Mating in Captivity_ ; that seemed like an odd choice for a title on a book on relationships. Still, it caused him to think about what a human might do when their relationships suffered. He’d heard of couple’s counseling, but that idea was ridiculous, just getting a therapist past the notion there was a demon and an angel in their office would be impossible, let alone catching them up on six thousand years of history. Let’s see, there were flowers, cards, holidays away, were singing telegrams still a thing? He idly envisioned the look on Crowley’s face if he opened the door of his flat to a human in a ridiculous costume singing a love song. In another circumstance he’d seriously consider that just to see his expression. His eyes flicked back to the window display thoughtfully. Although maybe…

He stopped by a store on the way home to pick up some supplies, and spent the rest of the night cutting, gluing, writing, rewriting, throwing away scraps of paper in frustration, pacing back and forth as if the restless movement of his body could force at least a modicum of inspiration from the overly loud jumble of his emotions, and flinging himself back into his chair to write some more. 

* * *

Crowley staggered into his flat after spending the evening at several bars, getting a grim satisfaction out of enticing fights that he would then sit back and watch for entertainment while he poured alcohol down his throat. He flicked on the light in his bedroom with the vague thought of flopping on the bed to pass out fully clothed and stopped abruptly at the sight of a large red paper heart on his pillow. He looked at it in bafflement and picked it up. The edges were trimmed with black lace while _Crowley_ was spelled out on the front in silver looping calligraphy, the C decorated as a serpent with a flicking tongue. He frowned and turned it over to see writing. 

_The way you see me when no one else does, including all of Heaven. The way I see you take joy in humanity and suffer as they do for things beyond their control. I wish you could see how much I love you._

Crowley savagely crumpled the heart into a ball and threw it across the room before flinging himself on the bed. The slide of the silver moon across the sky chased long shadows across the floor of the bedroom before the figure on the bed abruptly moved, limbs pointed edges in the dark as he half fell onto the floor and crawled over to the crumpled paper, dragging it over to a gleam of moonlight and smoothing it out, pressing his fingers against the wrinkles with trembling hands. He lurched back up into his bed, bringing the heart with him and lay back down, curling around it as he traced the calligraphy with his finger. 

As the warm glow of sunlight replaced the wan light of the moon Crowley sighed and set the mangled paper heart on his nightstand. He yawned while ambling into his living room and stopped short, shutting his mouth with a snap at the sight of dozens, maybe hundreds of paper hearts dangling from his ceiling by nylon threads of various lengths. An array of red, black, and gray cardstock fluttered gently as he moved through them. Writing on one caught his eye and he lifted it to read. _Feeding the ducks with you._ He turned over another heart. _I want to fraternize with you forever._ Then another, then another… _Shielding you from the rain Saving me from Heaven Dining at the Ritz I lost my heart to you instead of my head Oysters in Rome Arguing over nothing, knowing you are my everything._

He didn’t realize the dangling hearts had formed a trail until he followed to where they ended in front of his chair, where he saw another large heart on the seat, this one black with tiny silver sparkling stars glued to the front in recognizable constellation patterns. He turned it over. _I want to lay next to you and look up at the stars, listening to you tell me about the ones you made. I want to lay next to you when I wake up in bed, having you curled around me, my arms around the most precious thing in existence, thankful for every moment I have with you. I wish you could feel how much I yearn for you._

After reading every heart, _Let me go too fast with you, My knight in dark armor, Mesmerized by your glorious golden eyes, Walking on consecrated ground for me, Let me be your bit of a bastard_... he fell into his chair, staring at them, the raised stars of the large ebony heart pressed between his fingers. After carefully setting it down he got up to pace but the restless movements created air currents which set the hearts to a graceful twirling dance, which caused him to stop abruptly, dismayed. He stalked over to his liquor cabinet to pull out a bottle of something random with dark amber liquid and tilted the contents into his throat. After a long drink he looked at the bottle in his hands and started to raise it again before scowling and thrusting it back into the cabinet. He turned on his heel to grab a coat and leave the flat. When he opened the door to his car he saw another heart on the seat, a grey one with small black and white feathers glued in a spiral on the front. 

_I’ve hurt you in a way that should be unforgivable. But I am weak, I am selfish, and I cannot help but to beg for your forgiveness. I wish I could take it back, that I could do it right. I would court you with words, shower you with affection, tell you of the depths of my love for you, take things slowly before finally worshiping your body in the way that it is meant to be adored. I wish you would let me try._

He sat in his car for a long time before starting it up and driving away. 

* * *

Aziraphale sat on a bench overlooking the lake. The weather suited his mood, a cold gray overcast day with the heavy promise of a drizzling rain. It kept the park mostly empty of other bodies, and even the ducks were nowhere in sight, tucked away somewhere presumably more pleasant. He had just about decided to get up to walk back to the bookshop before the rain started when he unexpectedly heard a familiar voice. “Is this seat taken?”

The hush of the park around them suddenly seemed to quiet further, as if matching the stillness of his heart as he slowly turned, half disbelieving he would see… but impossibly there he was, dressed rather casually in a gray v-neck henley, black jeans and a long overcoat. He was standing somewhat stiffly with his hands shoved into his coat, his face canted away. 

“I’ll always have a seat for you my dear,/” he managed, his heart in his throat.

Crowley sprawled down next to him on the bench. He glanced around, then took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket before wrapping his arms around himself against the chill in the air as he looked out over the water.

It was silent for a while, Aziraphale fidgeting with his hands and casting sideways glances at the demon. _He’s here, actually sitting right next to me and I can’t think of a single thing to say, what’s **wrong** with me? _He wasn’t sure what he had expected with the messages he had left for Crowley at his flat, maybe an easing of the demon’s pain, maybe it would make him even more furious, but he hadn’t anticipated Crowley would actually seek him out and he felt woefully unprepared. The intensity of how very badly their last encounter had gone still filled him and he was terrified he would do something that would cause more damage.__

__As Aziraphale sat agonizingly frozen like a complete idiot, Crowley reached into his pocket and held out a small black heart between two long fingers._ _

____

____

Aziraphale automatically took it and read his own looping handwriting in silver ink. _I would burn every book to be with you._

“I figured that if you were going to write something that ridiculous then I should too.”

Aziraphale drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

Crowley made a twirling motion with his finger. “The other side.”

He turned the heart over to see cramped writing in a messy scrawl. _Watch you do magician tricks._

Aziraphale looked at him, puzzled. “You hate it when I try to do sleight of hand, and have told me endlessly that I’m just embarrassing myself.”

Crowley shifted uneasily. “Well, you’re hopeless at it. But you get so happy about it you’re kind of adorable, and I like watching you do something that makes you happy.”

 _“Oh.”_ Aziraphale breathed, watching Crowley, who resolutely looked at the water.

“Where’s the ducks? Shouldn’t there be ducks?” Crowley asked, frowning, in an apparent attempt to change the subject.

For once, Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to care in the slightest about the fate of the nonexistent ducks. It would be fine by him if they were all roasting on a spit this very moment, as long as they didn’t interfere with the two of them on the bench.

He looked back down at the heart. “Every word I wrote was true, my dear. If I had to burn every book, every newspaper, magazine, scroll, every scrap of paper into a pile of ash to be with you I would do it with no regrets.”

That got Crowley to finally look at him, golden eyes wide with disbelief. “Oh, bollocks. You would too regret it, I wouldn’t hear the end of it from you until the entirety of existence ended.” He mimicked in a falsetto voice “ _Oh dear, remember those clever Wilde poems, if only I could read Dickens just one more time, this tea is quite nice, but just think of how much more lovely it would be with a book to go along with it…_ it would be so nonstop you’d be impossible to live with.”

Aziraphale smiled the tiniest bit at the warmth that spread through his chest at Crowley teasing him, which expanded further at the words “to live with”. He fell silent, holding onto that warmth that curled around his long aching heart.

Crowley smiled a little in return but his smile quickly faded. His eyes lowered as he said in a rush, “I fucked up.”

Aziraphale looked at him with some surprise. “You—? I rather think that I should be shouldering the blame in this circumstance.”

Crowley grimaced. “Yeah, maybe a lot of it but I shouldn't have done what I did, it wasn’t much better— it was probably worse. I— I never thought I was capable of treating you like that; I’ve only ever wanted to protect you and I behaved like an _animal_. I couldn’t bear to see you afterwards, I kept seeing the look on your face after I—“ He broke off, choking on his words and crumpled, his head bowing down, shoulders following, spine bending until he twisted off of the bench onto his knees in front of Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around the angel’s legs, his face pressed into the top of Aziraphale’s thighs. “I’m so _sorry_ angel.” he said in anguish.

Aziraphale's surprise turned into outright astonishment as he leaned over, pulling at Crowley as he cried out “Crowley, _no_ — I’m not angry— how could I possibly be— this is all _my_ fault. I love you, I haven’t told you enough and I will not make that mistake again. My life is incomplete without you and I want nothing more than for you to be a part of it again.” He took a trembling breath. “Oh, my dearest. We have to talk about this. About _us_ , if we’re going to try to work past this.”

Crowley resisted being pulled up and nodded against Aziraphale’s thighs. His shoulders were shaking— the realization that Crowley was _crying_ hit Aziraphale hard and he gasped, tears welling up in his own eyes. He bent over the auburn head on his lap, circling him with his arms as best he could, his head held close to Crowley’s. It was with the barest edge of self control he managed to keep himself from flying to pieces. But he couldn’t make this about himself, he couldn’t demean Crowley’s suffering with his own anguish. As much as he didn’t deserve it, Crowley had come back to him _again_ and he would find strength in that. 

“Oh my dearest,” he whispered brokenly. “Please, just talk to me, my love.”

Crowley made an inarticulate noise, squeezing his arms around Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale’s trembling hands moved to run his fingers through auburn strands. The shaking shoulders gradually stopped and after a while he heard a muffled voice. “I— I felt ripped apart. Like every part of me was destroyed and then put back together with pieces that didn’t fit. And— and _you_ did it to me, my best friend— I couldn’t— I couldn’t— I missed you so much, I wanted you so fucking much and I was so _angry_ at you and didn’t have a fucking clue how to deal with it. So I didn’t. And then I— I _oh God_ —”

The tears that had been threatening to fall spilled over Aziraphale’s cheeks as he said in a rush. “You had _every_ right to be angry. What I did to you was detestable; I’m supposed to be an _angel_ , and what I did… you were right, I should have Fallen for it, although not for the reason you feared.”

Crowley kneeled upright and looked at Aziraphale, red rimmed eyes blazing. “No! Don’t say that. _Never say that_!”

Aziraphale held the eye contact just as fiercely. “It’s true, and I can never apologize to you enough for it.”

Crowley shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no. I— yes, you made a mistake, a terrible one, and I made terrible mistakes too— not that we’re even, that’s not what I mean, it’s just that—” Crowley ran his hands through his hair and looked down, frustrated. He caught sight of Aziraphale’s hands tightly gripped together in his lap and reached out to place his hands on top of them before looking back up. Golden eyes met blue. “Humans grow and learn from their mistakes all of the time. I guess I think that we have to learn to do that too?”

Aziraphale fell silent at that but nodded thoughtfully. As they stared at each other, the clouds finally released the moisture they had been holding onto all day and rain started drizzling down, breaking some of the intensity between them. Crowley huffed and looked up, annoyed. “Well, you know how much I detest getting wet.” He looked back at Aziraphale uncertainly. “If you want, we can go to the bookshop? I could use a drink.”

Aziraphale smiled hopefully. “And talk?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah,” he exhaled. “And talk.” His hand curled around Aziraphale’s as he stood, pulling the angel up. They stood awkwardly looking at each other, hands still clasped together. Aziraphale leaned forward slightly, looking into Crowley’s eyes with the barest of tugs on their joined hands. He almost sobbed in relief when the demon took a step forward and their arms flew around each other. Aziraphale let his tears mix with the rain, holding onto Crowley tightly. “I’m so, so sorry. I love you, and I missed you so very, very much.”

Crowley buried his face in the angel’s neck. “I’m sorry too, angel,” he mumbled. He seemed reluctant to let go until a fat drop of rain hit the back of his neck and slid down, jolting his head up with a curse. He took a deep breath and pulled back, wiping his neck. “C’mon, let’s go before I melt in all this wet.”

Aziraphale wiped his face and tentatively reached for Crowley’s hand, which was readily grasped. “You’re hardly the Wicked Witch of the West my dear.”

“Why not? You’d make a good Glinda, you’d be right at home in that two foot tall crown and poofy dress.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Really,” he said dryly. They fell into amiable bickering that was still careful, still tentative, but as they walked to the bookshop their hands remained tightly held together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go my dears, the heartfelt beginnings of a reconciliation to lift your spirits. After all, we need a reconciliation before we can move on to more spicy bits don't we?


	8. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter wasn't originally included in the story; I received a request to actually write out the make-up dialogue instead of the one paragraph summary I initially wrote. This made me wonder if I was being a lazy writer for not writing it out, and realized yes, yes I was, particularly as it explores the thoughts I have as to why Aziraphale did what he did. So after a flurry of writing, I added it to the story. Thank you, dear readers for your comments and suggestions._

As Aziraphale shut the door behind them he glanced at Crowley nervously. “Tea. I’ll make tea. Do you want some tea? Oh, but perhaps you would prefer something stronger—”

“Tea’s fine, angel,” Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale started to bustle off to the kitchenette, realized he was still firmly holding Crowley’s hand, and looked at said hands in consternation. He didn’t want to let go, but he had to make tea… would it be weird to try to make tea while still holding hands? Yes, that would be weird…

Crowley saved him from his spiraling thoughts by giving his hand a squeeze and then letting go. “I’ll just wait for you in the back, yeah?”

Aziraphale shot him a grateful smile. “Yes, of course my dear. I’ll be but a moment.”

A drizzling day such as this one called for Earl Grey Creme. As he waited for the teakettle to boil he lifted the square silver canister of loose leaf tea to his nose, inhaling the rich fragrance. The intertwined notes of earthy citrus and a touch of vanilla settled him into the familiar ritual, grounding him in it’s comforting familiarity. He opened the cupboard containing his modest collection of teapots and started to reach one of the teapots he used regularly; usually favoring vintage ceramic with floral designs but he hesitated, his hand hovering over a Chinese pot with intricately twining white cherry blossoms set against a blue background, his eyes rising up to the top shelf. Dragging a step stool over to the cupboard, he pushed teapots aside until— yes, there it was in the back corner. He still had it, an impulse purchase he made in Paris around 1900 but had never been able to bring himself to actually use. But it might do nicely for today. 

Crowley looked up from where he was perched on the back of the couch with his angular limbs pointed in every direction and eyed the tray Aziraphale was setting down, eyebrows flying up. 

“Really?” he drawled. “What, you couldn’t find one with an apple?”

Aziraphale surveyed the teapot. It was gleaming pewter in the shape of a large pear, with a snake slithering through it, the scaled midsection arching over the top to serve as the handle and the head breaking free of the pear to arch outwards, poised to strike, fanged mouth open to pour the tea out of. 

“No, they only had the pear. But I thought of you when I saw it.”

Crowley snorted. “It’s hideous, you know that, right?”

Aziraphale harrumphed. “Well, it’s perhaps not conventional, but neither are you, and that in of itself lends towards a certain attractiveness.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “If we’re going to spend the day with you comparing my virtues to a bloody teapot— which is still hideous by the way— then I am _so_ out of here.”

Aziraphale smothered a smile as he poured their tea, adding a touch of cream to Crowley’s to take the edge off of the bitterness then pouring rather more than a touch of cream to his along with a generous spoonful of sugar. 

They sipped their tea, each taking turns stealing glances at each other before quickly looking away. Finally Aziraphale spoke, looking down into the milky liquid in his cup as if it would give him strength. “Well then. Perhaps I should go first, as I started all of this.” 

He paused, thinking about where to start. From the beginning, he supposed. “I apologize for the way I kissed you the first time, after we went to that art show. I— I had this notion, I suppose, that it would be like those books where the first kiss causes the characters to fall madly into each other’s arms. And even though it was clear that you were surprised by it, and angry, I still told myself that once you got used to the idea it would just be a matter of time before you wanted what I did.” He stopped, shame closing his throat. 

“And what did you want?” came the low voice to his left.

“Well— ah, you, of course. In flagrante delicto, as they say.”

Crowley shook his head disbelievingly. “First of all, no one says that. Secondly, that means caught in committing an illegal or perverse sexual act.”

“Oh. Perhaps not that, then.”

Crowley smirked to himself, letting all sorts of comments slide about what possible perverse acts they could do together. It was too early in the process of this— whatever this was— for that, but he held onto some optimism that maybe in the future...

Aziraphale fidgeted. “Do you ah— I can keep talking, if you’d prefer, but I want you to have the opportunity to talk about whatever you wish.”

Crowley exhaled. “That will be hard. For both of us.” He paused, thinking. “How about we finish our tea and move onto wine before I start?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Certainly my dear. Erm, what did you do with yourself these past months?”

They talked of inconsequential things as they drank their tea, both watching the declining liquid in their cup recede as if it were sands in an hourglass sliding away to its inevitable conclusion. Finally Aziraphale stood. “I’ll go open a bottle to breathe.” He started to move away but stopped when Crowley also stood and maneuvered around the stacks of books to lay a hand on his arm. He looked at the demon uncertainly. 

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. “Maybe we could…?” He tentatively pulled on Aziraphale’s arm, bringing his other arm down and holding it out. 

“Of course my dear. Always.” Aziraphale breathed, stepping into Crowley’s arms. 

* * *

Crowley laid his head against Aziraphale’s as their arms wrapped around one another. He knew that once he started talking things would get more tense and he wanted a tangible reminder of what they were struggling towards. Already he was fighting the impulse to strike out with sarcastic defensive words, to flee far away from here, anything to keep from dipping his toe into the murky pool of feelings that seethed within him. It still felt odd to be fully touching, but the deep craving he had to feel Aziraphale in this way, solid in his arms and steadily giving him physical affection was only growing with time. The angel rarely gave more than the passing touch, even to humans, which made him doubt that he was all that comfortable with this much touching. Aziraphale was probably too polite to comment on how long the embrace had gone on— he counted to three and stepped back, forcing his arms to drop casually to his side. He searched Aziraphale’s face for any sign of discomfort but all he saw was a warm smile that reached those soft blue eyes.

“What are you in the mood for? A Pino, perhaps? Or a Sangiovese?”

“A Merlot, if you have one.” Crowley felt the dark boldness of that wine would suit the mood he knew he would have shortly. 

“Absolutely. I’m sure I have something that will be just the thing.”

A short time later as he watched Aziraphale pour the wine into his glass he was sharply reminded of the last time the angel had poured him wine. _Here we go._

“You got me drunk on purpose, didn’t you?”

Aziraphale froze, then caught himself just before the wine he was pouring overflowed the glass. He set the wine bottle down carefully and sat down heavily in the armchair. 

“Yes.” he said quietly. 

Crowley nodded, unsurprised. “I realized afterwards that my wineglass somehow was never more than half empty. At the time I thought we were both tying one on, just for fun, yanno? But you were nowhere near as tossed as I was, were you?”

Aziraphale remained silent, eyes fixed on the hands tightly clasped in his lap. 

“ _Aziraphale_.” Crowley said sharply. “Tell me.”

Aziraphale flinched and gritted out, “No. I wasn’t. And _yes_ , I also did that on purpose.”

Crowley knew that, but hearing it confirmed still hit him heavy in the chest, making his next words come out without thinking. “Did it turn you on to get me so drunk that you could force yourself on me?”

Aziraphale exploded defensively. “I didn’t _force_ you— I would never— that’s implying that I—“

“What part of that night seemed _consensual_ to you?!” Crowley roared, untangling his limbs as he leapt up to loom over Aziraphale in fury. “The part where you essentially drugged me so that I couldn’t resist you? The part where I told you to stop and you _didn’t_? Oh, I know, maybe it was the second time that I tried to tell you no and you responded by sticking your tongue in my mouth so I couldn’t say any more words that were _inconvenient_?”

Aziraphale recoiled, his face etched in pain. He tried to look at Crowley but couldn’t manage it so he stared at the teapot instead, following the sinuous silver shape with his eyes. “You’re right, of course.” he ventured haltingly. “But please believe me when I say that I didn’t exactly have a premeditated plan for that night to go as it did. Well, except for the wine part. I thought it would help you relax, and increase feelings of, uh, passion. I wasn’t so foolish as to think that you loved me, but if I could arrange things so that you desired me, well… I thought that might be enough.” 

He took a deep breath, and continued wretchedly. “I— I thought when you said to stop that you didn’t really mean it. I could see that you were uh, aroused, and I believed that I could _convince_ you to keep going and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I truly didn’t realize what I had done until the next morning when you—” he stopped abruptly, covering his hand with his mouth, tears running down his cheeks. 

Crowley stared down at him, hands twitching towards the angel, but he turned away, doing what pacing he could manage in the small crowded space. 

“Do you know it’s hard to find the right combination of drugs to cause long periods of feeling not much of anything?” he said, almost conversationally. “There’s a trick to it. So many of them cause euphoria, which is usually the point, but that was the last emotion I wanted to feel. I kept thinking about what a pathetic sucker I had been, realizing that all of these years I was living off of scraps of your affection. I would drop everything to rush by your side at the smallest crook of your finger, but it was okay because I believed we had become friends, that we trusted each other, that we had finally become our own side.” 

He stopped pacing, his head angled towards Aziraphale. “I would have marched into battle against Heaven or Hell willingly as long as you were beside me. And then, after all of those years, you used me as if I was just a convenient fuck buddy. Any feelings I had about it, about you were irrelevant. What should have been the most significant event of our existence together was reduced to you getting your rocks off.” 

Aziraphale was openly sobbing now, his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

Crowley carefully didn’t look at the angel, knowing that if he did he might not be able to resist comforting him, which was not something he was ready for. 

“I get that you’re sorry. But I want to know why you did it. Was my body really such a temptation that you were somehow so overcome by my lack of come hither looks that you couldn’t resist?”

Aziraphale uncrossed his arms with an effort, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I— I didn’t think that sex meant anything more to you than the carnal act itself. You never acted as if meant more to you, and I thought your casual regard of it would extend to me.”

Crowley finally turned to look at him sharply. “That doesn't explain why you pushed so hard.” 

Aziraphale faltered. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said pleadingly.

“Tell me _why._ You stripped my clothes off, and when that didn’t do it you gave me a god damned massage, and when that wasn’t enough you plastered yourself all over me, touching me— you were _driven_ to fuck me— _why_?” he yelled.

* * *

Aziraphale emotions coalesced into a blaze as he stood, bursting out, “I wanted what I knew you had given the humans that you never gave to me! It was torture imaging you with them, their bodies pressed up against your bare skin, their fingers in your hair, your mouth on theirs— why should they be allowed to have a part of you that I couldn’t have? _It wasn’t fair!”_ he yelled. 

His eyes fell upon the ridiculous teapot-- Crowley was right, it _was_ hideous-- and he suddenly hated the representation of the stupid fascination he’d had for centuries with the demon, the gleaming silver reminder of what he couldn’t have. He snatched up the teapot in a fury and turned, hurling it through the window with supernatural force, the window shattering and the teapot sailing past the street, bouncing onto the far sidewalk with a clatter. 

“ _Now_ we’re getting sssomewhere,” Crowley hissed. 

They stood staring at each other, Aziraphale breathing heavily, taken aback at the intensity of the revelation he hadn’t put into words before, even to himself. 

* * *

Crowley’s eyes flicked past him to the window. 

“Bless it. Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale looked after his retreating back, confused as to where Crowley was going but grateful for the opportunity to collect himself. 

Crowley stalked outside, up to the pedestrian who had picked up the dented teapot bemusedly to stare at it in fascination, only to have it yanked out of their hands. 

“That’s _mine._ ” he snarled, turning on his heel to stride back to the bookshop. By the time he set the teapot back on the tray it showed no sign of damage. He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down at it without seeing it. 

Aziraphale probably thought he had an endless stream of lovers and although he’d certainly indulged, sometimes in his line of work, sometimes out of curiosity, sometimes out of boredom, the times he did so became steadily fewer and fewer once he realized he tended to fancy humans with light blonde hair and a certain softness so that when he closed his eyes he could pretend… but invariably after it was over he felt worse, not better. He fleetingly considered confessing all of that to Aziraphale but couldn’t make himself form the words; still afraid of exposing himself so fully, of his poor dark bleeding heart being flayed further into shreds. 

Aziraphale had wanted him because of sheer petty _jealousy—_ he struggled with himself not to default to his normal response of storming out, maybe taking a nice long oblivious nap for a decade or two… He breathed out sharply and closed his eyes to see a flutter of paper hearts. _I want to fraternize with you forever... my arms around the most precious thing in existence… arguing over nothing, knowing you are my everything_ … His eyes snapped open. _Fuck_ this was hard. Maybe this talking thing had been a bad idea; if he didn’t pour out his feelings he couldn’t be hurt more, right?

* * *

Aziraphale took in Crowley’s sidelong glance at the door, his stiff posture radiating tension, feet shifting restlessly. “My dear,” he said hesitatingly. “I am completely willing to continue this conversation, but I wonder if perhaps we should take a break. A hiatus, if you will. It might be helpful.”

The feet stilled. “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, erm, I don’t know… we could watch a movie, perhaps?” 

“Hmph. Do I get to pick?”

Aziraphale was torn between the desire to acquiesce to do absolutely anything at all the demon wanted versus having to sit through yet another of those dreadful movies Crowley seemed to favor which had entirely too much violence and entirely too little plot. He decided to let Crowley make suggestions but reserve veto power as they bickered over what to watch, eventually settling on a film that had something to do with an American trying to solve a murder of a man who had the same name with a plot that seemed unnecessarily complex but Crowley seemed amused by it. 

Partway through the movie he turned his eyes away from a seduction scene, wishing rather uncomfortably that he had agreed to something that focused more on car crashes, and his gaze landed on Crowley’s hand, which was placed rather casually close to his own hand on the couch. Was Crowley sitting closer to him when they started the movie? Feeling rather ridiculously like what he imagined a schoolyard crush would feel, he moved his hand a little closer to the demon, so that their pinkies crossed. He glanced up to see Crowley looking steadfastly at the screen but then quickly back down as Crowley’s hand slid infinitesimally under his hand just a little more. Rather than continuing the agonizing dance for the rest of the movie he made the leap of faith to curl his hand around the one underneath his, a thrum of happiness radiating through him as he felt the hand curl into him in return. Feeling hopeful that perhaps their relationship hadn’t been damaged beyond repair he tried to return his focus to the movie— why on earth did they feel the need to do that to that poor car?— but eventually gave up and focused on the warm feel of Crowley’s hand against his own. 

Afterwards they returned to the back room. They sat in awkward silence before Crowley finally spoke. His words were harsh but the tone was oddly gentle. “So. Like a child be told no to candy, you couldn’t stand the idea of someone else having something you wanted.”

Aziraphale took a breath, wishing he still had Crowley’s hand in his. “It’s not as simple as that. Yes, I am terribly ashamed to realize that played a much larger role in what happened that I would like to admit, but I did— I do have other feelings that contributed.”

He watched Crowley’s face carefully as he said “I did know that I was in love with you, although not as much as I know now. It was gradual, the realization. For a very long time I told myself that of course I had love for you, it’s my duty as an angel to have love for all creatures. Then as my feelings grew I rather firmly told myself that it’s only natural that someone I’ve spent so much time with throughout the centuries I would develop more affection for, especially as I saw evidence time and time again of the inherent kindness underneath your demonic veneer.”

Crowley snorted derisively at that, but remained otherwise silent. 

The edges of Aziraphale’s lips curled up a tiny amount, but then faded away as he continued. “I don’t know when I realized that I was in love with you. It wasn’t some grand realization like what happens in books— perhaps that should have given me the clue that real life doesn’t follow the same trite formula as the romance in novels.” 

He closed his eyes, letting the feelings he had for Crowley wash through him. “It was little things. Like when you ran your fingers through your hair I found my fingers twitching, itching to do it for you. More and more I would read something, thinking, oh, I must remember to tell Crowley about this, or I wonder if Crowley might like to go to this thing with me. Your hand would sometimes touch the small of my back, guiding me through a crowd and it was all I could do to keep breathing, to pretend as if that brief contact wasn’t lighting every nerve ending in my body. When I would hear the sound of your car pulling up outside of the shop I would leap up, my heart racing at the thought of seeing you again, before settling on what casual, somewhat distracted pose you would see me in when you walked through the door.”

His eyes flew open, jolted out of his reverie when Crowley spoke gruffly. “I hadn’t realized what a good actor you can be, since you’re usually so rubbish about it.”

He looked at Crowley with a grimace. “Yes. Well. I’m sorry for that as well. I know that didn’t help matters.”

He bowed his head. “It simply never occurred to me that you might have feelings for me that would complicate having, uh, carnal relations. And looking back on it now it was extremely naïve of me to think it would have no effect on me— on us— to take that step. I was astonished and horrified to discover that I had hurt you so much with my thoughtlessness and complete disregard for your feelings. I would rather rend the wings from my back rather than hurt you and knowing that I did has been the most difficult thing to endure than I have ever experienced.”

* * *

“Oh _angel_.” Crowley sunk his head into his hands. Aziraphale _loved_ him, it was his most wretched selfish desire come true, yet this confession of love only made him feel worse. He wanted nothing more to shrivel up in a writhing mass of regret, but somehow managed to force his next words out. “I also— it’s been killing me, what I did to you at my flat.”

“Oh no my dear— you mustn’t feel badly for that— I’ve told you I deserved—”

Crowley sharply slashed his hand in the air, without looking up, cutting off Aziraphale’s words. “Let me finish. There isn’t some cosmic tit for tat that makes us even, that made it okay to do what I did. It’s in the demonic manual 101 that retaliating doesn’t make things better, it makes things worse. You deserved to feel guilty, not to be rutted on against your will like a fucking dog.” 

“There’s a demonic manual?” Aziraphale asked with a tinge of eagerness to his voice.

Crowley finally looked up, red rimmed eyes glowering at the angel. “No, there’s not a literal bloody manual! Is that really the one thing you took from my ripping my heart open to you?”

“No, of course not!” Aziraphale said quickly, his hands raised placatingly. “I was just wondering— I’m sorry, please my dear, I’m giving you my complete attention, I assure you.”

Crowley relented, sighing. He knew Aziraphale well enough that if there actually was a rudimentary book on how to be a demon he wouldn’t be able rest until he had his hands on a copy.

“If I may continue?” he asked sarcastically.

Aziraphale nodded earnestly, his eyes fixed on the demon.

Crowley paused to collect his disrupted train of thought and began again. “Right then. About what I did— I think I had you on a pedestal, and I was so angry when you fell off it that I lost my shit over it. There was that thing you wrote on one of the hearts— I also wish I could take what I did back and do it right. Not only was our first time together rubbish, but I made our second time together even worse. That’s not how I wanted things to be between us,” he finished brokenly.

Aziraphale swiftly stood, crossing over to Crowley and sinking down on his knees before him, tentatively reaching up to cradle his face with shaking hands. “Nor me, my dear, _please_ believe that,” he said fervently. “Yes, I wanted your body, yes I was jealous, but above all I loved you, I still love you, so very, very much. Please, let me show you how much, give me a chance to make things right between us. Let me love you in the way you are meant to be loved, in any way you will let me. My dearest, my darling, I beg of you, will you let me try?” 

Gold slit eyes looked down to lock onto earnest blue ones radiating love and absolute conviction. To have the angel love his imperfect Fallen self, how could he not yearn for that with every atom of his being? _He loves me._ The tight knot of pain loosened. _He loves me._ Tangled strands of betrayal unwound. _He loves me._ Bitter rage flaked off of the edges. _He loves me._ Crowley let out a long exhale, letting go of the feelings he had held onto with razor sharp claws for so long. “Yesss,” he breathed out.

Aziraphale half sobbed in joy, their locked gaze stretching out in tensile strands of intensity until Crowley blinked and shook himself, Aziraphale’s hands falling away. Suddenly it was too much to process right then. “Bloody hell. Let’s get out of here. Fancy a bite to eat?”

* * *

For once, Aziraphale didn’t feel much like eating, the seething mass of feelings too unsettling in his gut, but he conceded that it would be nice to get out into the open air and not feel as if the walls were closing in on him. “Certainly my dear. Perhaps we can find a place to sit outside?”

They found a small bistro that was open late with patio dining and kept to light conversation while nibbling on appetizers. Aziraphale eyed Crowley across the table and thought of their intertwined hands on the couch a short time ago. Feeling self conscious, he got up to sit in the seat next to Crowley, feeling the demon watching him. He sat there for a moment, taking a sip of his wine to cover his discomfiture. _I’m being ridiculous. Just do it, you silly fool._ Before he lost his nerve his hand darted out to cover Crowley’s which was laying loosely in his lap. Crowley gave him a slow smile as he turned his hand over into Aziraphale’s. 

“It’s okay to hold my hand if you want to. I like it.”

Aziraphale blushed, a smile spreading across his face as he fiddled with his napkin. 

After lingering over their table until their waiter started hovering over them as it was clearly getting close to closing time, they paid and left. 

As they slowly walked in the dark of the night, neither in any rush to get back to the bookshop, their hands naturally found each other again, holding tight with the promise of their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm ridiculously pleased to have found a photo of the amazing pear snake teapot and just had to write it into the story. Art Nouveau Snake Pewter Teapot, c. 1900, executed by Siot-Decauville foundry, Paris._


	9. Good Morning

Crowley drained the last of his wine after a long, but not uncomfortable silence and flopped back on the couch he was perched on the edge of. “So. What now?”

Aziraphale looked over from where he was leaning against his desk and took a deep breath to steady himself, his restless hands unnecessarily smoothing down the front of his waistcoat. “It would make me so very happy to have you in my life again. As— as a companion, as a friend if you'll have me.”

Crowley tilted his head and regarded him, golden eyes boring into him. “Is that really all you want?” His voice was carefully neutral.

Aziraphale cut his eyes away, Crowley’s intense gaze prickling into his skin. He pressed his lips together tightly, struggling to find the right words to say while Crowley waited with coiled stillness. “I— no— well— yes— I do want that. But I also want— it is my dearest wish that we could be— more than that to each other.” _Be clear, find strength, tell him, tell him..._

He squared his shoulders, rather feeling like he was preparing for battle, suppressing the urge to release his wings against an unknown enemy, and wrenched his eyes back up to meet Crowley’s. “Yes. I would very much like us to be more than friends or companions. In a, uh, romantic relationship. If you are interested. But of course if that’s not what you want I will be happy to have you in my life in any capacity you are willing to give me. If there is the smallest chance that you are interested we, uh, can progress the erm, physical side of things slowly of course, I’ll check in with you every step of the way, if you want to, that is…” 

Suddenly the steady golden glow of Crowley’s eyes was too much and he turned to hide his flushed face, busying himself with pouring more wine into his glass and taking a large drink. He focused on trying to still the shaking of his hands, acutely are that the hours of talking had culminated into the narrow pinpoint of the outcome of this final topic.

Long fingers reached around him, taking the wine glass from his nerveless fingers and setting it down, then placing those hands on his shoulders and turning Aziraphale to face him. After spending so much time giving honest voice to his feelings, which he rarely did at the best of times, Aziraphale was wrecked, unable to hide the fear and distress he was acutely aware was radiating from his eyes. To his chagrin, he felt tears spill over his cheeks _again_ and he cursed his inability to hold himself together. 

“Hey there,” Crowley said softly, his hand rising up to wipe the errant tears from Aziraphale’s cheek. “It will be okay. C’mere.” He pulled Aziraphale towards him to lean in close, their faces a breath away. “The answer is _yes_. I want to be in a relationship with you. A full one. And yes, I want to show you all of the things I’ve fantasized about doing with you, to you, things I want you to do to me— saints, all of it.”

Aziraphale breathed out sharply, the sound ending in a half sob. “You’re sure? You still want to, even after—“ he couldn’t finish.

“Yes,” Crowley said firmly. “We can take it slow— or not, because blessed everything holy, despite everything that time together felt _unbelievably_ bloody fantastic and I want more. I’m greedy that way.” He leaned closer, his lips hovering over Aziraphale’s. “Whaddya say? I’m not perfect either but we can be imperfect together. Will you have me?”

“Oh my dear gorgeous, tempting, wily, wonderful serpent. I will _always_ have you,” Aziraphale breathed, hardly daring to believe this was actually happening. Together, they closed the sliver of space between their lips. Their mouths slotted together perfectly, a tinge of sweet hesitancy tempering the response as their lips moved gently until Crowley brushed his tongue along Aziraphale’s lips, seeking entrance. Aziraphale opened his mouth receptively and matched him, their tongues moving against each other with leisurely growing heat. 

Oh Heaven, they were kissing, and it was wonderful, but Aziraphale was too painfully aware of the newness of it all, of the trickling fear that he would make the wrong move to fully lose himself in it. He raised his hands, wanting to pull, to grasp tightly but settled on placing them on Crowley’s hips lightly, the tips of his fingers digging in slightly with his effort to keep them still. 

Crowley pulled back and looked at Aziraphale, an eyebrow raised marginally as if thinking. Before Aziraphale could try to interpret the expression Crowley swooped in again, this time deepening the kiss with more heat, moving one hand to the back of Aziraphale’s head to hold him firm against the the passion of his mouth, the other hand sliding down to curve around Aziraphale’s arse to abruptly pull him close, pressing their bodies flush against each other. He swallowed Aziraphale’s gasp as he rolled his hips forward, then trailed his mouth down the angel’s jaw, ran his tongue over the curve of an ear and murmured, “Can you feel how much I want you? How much I’ve wanted you for centuries?” 

Aziraphale felt the evidence of Crowley’s arousal against his hip as his own body responded, his cock swelling, pushing against the confines of his trousers. He pulled Crowley’s mouth back to his, emitting a helpless moan as teeth gently caught his lower lip, then a tongue tantalizingly ran over it before sinking in for a deeper taste. And _oh_ the demon’s hands were everywhere, running down his back, grasping his hips, sliding into the back of his hair and twining in his curls as they kept kissing, and kissing as the world fell away around them. They drew apart, gasping, and dove in again, more urgently than before, hands pulling, grasping. When he felt Crowley’s hands slide to the buttons on his waistcoat Aziraphale broke away, breathing heavily, to gently place a hand on Crowley’s chest when he leaned forward again to chase his lips again. He smiled at the sight of thoroughly kissed swollen lips and eyes heavy with arousal, feeling heady with the visible proof that Crowley actually desired him. 

“My dearest,” he said softly, raising a hand to Crowley's jaw and tracing those enticing lips with his thumb. “It’s late, we’ve both had a difficult run of things and I suspect you need your rest. There is something I missed dearly from when you were here last…” he glanced away, then looked back shyly. “I was wondering if you would like to sleep here tonight? I would very much like to hold you while you sleep, if you’re willing.”

Crowley caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his wrist, his golden eyes intent. “Yesss,” he hissed. He glanced down to the state of himself below his waist. “A part of me rather wants more than that, but I see what you’re doing. Yeah.” He curled his fingers around to clasp their hands together and they made their way up the stairs. 

Once in the flat Aziraphale looked at the bed, then back to Crowley and licked his lips. “I’d like to offer to undress you for bed but I think that may be best to wait for another day. I’m not entirely sure how much more self restraint I can possibly manage today.”

* * *

Crowley smirked and snapped his fingers, transforming his clothes into dark silk pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, his chest bare. The idea of the prim and proper angel losing restraint was an intriguing one, he rather thought he would enjoy experiencing the outcome of that and shelved that as an idea to explore later. He climbed into bed, looking at the angel expectantly who gave him a shy smile and transformed his own clothes into blue soft flannel before climbing in next to him. Aziraphale opened his arms and Crowley moved onto him, pillowing his head on the angel’s chest, wrapped his arms around his plush middle as Aziraphale held him closely. Crowley inhaled deeply, nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck. “Blessed fuck, I missed this. I was an idiot to stay away so long.”

Aziraphale chuckled, the sound a rumble against Crowley’s ear. “I think we were both idiots my dear. I missed this too. I missed everything about you. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Crowley closed his eyes, drifting off to the hand gently caressing his back. The last tendrils of thoughts that faded in his mind was that for the first time in a very long time he was feeling so content that if he were a cat he’d be purring. Hmm, if he was a cat then Aziraphale would pet him, that would be nice… maybe the angel would pet him in his current shape if he asked nicely? As he mused about what else he could get Aziraphale to do to him if he asked nicely he tipped over into the slide of sleep.

* * *

The late morning sunlight shone uninvited against his closed eyelids and he turned his head into the pillow, grunting in disapproval. He felt something tighten against his chest and took stock to realize with a drowsy sort of amazement that it was Aziraphale’s arm, and that said angel was curled up against his back, their bodies spooned together. After all of this time he was actually waking up with Aziraphale in bed, and it was good. More than good, actually, it was pretty fucking great.

“Good morning, my dearest,” came a soft voice by his ear. 

“Mmph,” he mumbled, not awake enough to make coherent sounds yet but luxuriating in the feel of the angel’s body pressed close to his. Yesterday Aziraphale had poured out his heartfelt feelings of heavy shame and regret along with achingly desperate declarations of love and Crowley had felt it, had finally believed it. His body sang with the new wonderment that he could freely touch Aziraphale as much as he wanted and _oh sweet blessed crucifix_ be touched in return. 

He stretched, pressing back into Aziraphale, and when he realized there was a certain firmness pressed against his arse he swam into a semblance of alertness much faster than he normally did. He gave an experimental push backwards as he stretched and heard Aziraphale the angel catch his breath. Crowley lay there for a moment, his own cock lengthening with anticipation but when the only move Aziraphale made was to make the barest caresses against his arms with his fingertips he realized that Aziraphale was likely too hesitant to make an advance. So he would have to initiate the next move, if he wanted to. Which, if his cock had anything to say about it, he very much did, since it was an insistent pushy bastard at the best of times. 

He caught those gently moving fingers and brought them up to his lips for a kiss, hearing Aziraphale hum in pleasure as his lips moved against his knuckles, then palm, then wrist. Then, loosely holding the angel’s hand, prepared to stop the instant he felt any hesitation or pulling back, he slowly guided the angel’s hand downward, past his waist and placed it on top of the firmness pushing against the silk fabric of his pajamas.

Delightfully, there was no hesitation in Aziraphale’s hand as it readily began stroking him over the silk. His eyes fell closed and he leaned back into the warm body against his back, drifting in the sensations and the knowing that was _Aziraphale_ stroking his cock, and that it felt so right, perfect even after all of this time... he twisted a little to lean his head back and welcome Aziraphale’s mouth into his own. As they kissed the hand continued to move in a slow steady pace, increasing the coiled tension in his groin but maddening in it’s lack of increased pressure or speed. “Angel…” he groaned, his hips pushing into the hand moving against him. He wondered if perhaps Aziraphale didn’t know how to give a proper hand job. Did he ever stroke himself? And didn’t _that_ thought send him spiraling down the rabbit hole of imagining Aziraphale with his pants open, his hand between his legs, his head fallen back, that prim and proper mouth falling open in an O of ecstasy… he wrenched his thoughts back to the present with an effort. Seemed a bit ridiculous to be fantasizing about the angel who was laying right fucking next to him with his hand on his cock, even if he was hoping for a bit more. Would he be receptive to instruction or was it too soon in this early stage of their relationship to offer words that might be taken as criticism? 

He was still considering what words he could say; a pleading _harder, faster_ , being about as eloquent as he could come up with, when Aziraphale said, “Yes my dear? Do you want something?” in a teasing voice. To his chagrin the hand stopped stroking entirely, instead moving down to fondle his tight balls, causing him to move restlessly, pushing his buttocks back hopefully into Aziraphale’s erection. He realized with dawning delight that the angel knew _exactly_ what he was doing. 

“Yesss, I want you, you bastard.” He was pretty sure he managed to keep a whine from his voice, bonus points for him on that, he should start keeping a bloody scorecard.

Aziraphale smiled in a way that looked positively possessive as he gazed down at him. “And you shall have me, in any way you wish. But first—” he pulled at Crowley’s shoulder, laying him fully on his back. “First I will give you pleasure, you gorgeous creature. First, I will see you come undone for me.” He sat up to push the blankets down and tug off the demon’s pajama bottoms, Crowley lifting his hips up obligingly to help. Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbow along Crowley’s side, his blue eyes half closed as he lay his hand along Crowley’s face, thumb stroking the sharp angle of his cheekbone. Crowley lifted his head to kiss him again, but all too soon Aziraphale pulled back, his eyes liquid pools of desire as his gaze slid from his face to gaze downwards, taking in the sight of his naked form splayed out for the angel as if he was an offering. Aziraphale slid his hand down, brushing against a nipple, lightly following the rib cage down to the flat plane of his stomach, dipping downward into the crease of his thigh, then finally moving to upward jut of Crowley’s cock, tracing his fingers lightly along the shaft, a smile curling the edge of his lips as it twitched underneath him, wanting more. 

Crowley arched his hips up into the fingers that curled around him, still with tantalizingly delicate pressure that lightly touched the skin.

“Do you want me to proceed, my dear?”

Crowley opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed and looked incredulously at Aziraphale. He waved a hand downward. “Isn’t that proof that I do?”

A shadow passed across Aziraphale’s face as he said softly “It wasn’t last time. I need to be sure—”

“Angel. _Yes_.” Crowley hastened to reassure him. “I will tell you if you’re doing something I don’t want, I promise. And I _promise you_ —” he growled, “I want this. With you.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, somehow radiating joy that seemed a somewhat odd juxtaposition to the electric jolt of pleasure that flooded Crowley as the hand around his cock began moving, this time with firm, delicious pressure that caused a strangled noise to escape from his throat. 

Aziraphale continued to gaze at Crowley's face as he stroked, watching every hitch of breath and gasp of pleasure. Crowley resisted the heavy pull of his eyelids wanting to slide shut to further intensify the shuddering pressure rising within him. He wanted to see Aziraphale, to be able know this was real, not another one of his desperate, lonely fantasies in the dark of the night— never in the bright light of day which always felt like he could be sullying the angel’s domain of all that was good and bright with his twisted hidden desires. But now he could feel the warm glow of sunlight on his skin as much as he could feel the force of Aziraphale’s eyes on him, he could look down and see— and see _oh Go—Sata—Somebody_ — the impossibly arousing sight of those manicured fingers wrapped around his darkening cock, precome dripping from the head down onto those ivory hands.

Crowley emitted a rather embarrassing whine of disappointment when Aziraphale stopped stroking him and leaned across to reach into the nightstand. Aziraphale chuckled softly as he came back. “Don’t fret my dear. I will take care of you,” he said as he poured some oil from a small bottle onto his hand. 

Suddenly self conscious, Crowley realized that although Aziraphale was being careful to check in with him he didn’t want the angel to feel like he _had_ to do anything. He blurted “Angel— it’s okay if— I mean— you don’t have to.”

In response Aziraphale bent down and kissed him, swallowing his moan as his oiled hand encircled his leaking cock and stroked down firmly. He pulled back enough to murmur against the demon’s lips. “I want nothing more than to pleasure you, dear boy.”

His hand slid more smoothly over Crowley’s cock, stroking and twisting his hand up at the top before bringing it down. “I love watching you,” he murmured, tenderness filling his low voice. “You’re so responsive to me, you feel so good under my hand. I could touch you like this until the end of time.” He moved his hand faster, as Crowley arched underneath him, his breaths coming faster, his eyes finally closing against the swiftly mounting sensations. “Come for me my dear, I adore you, let yourself go for me.” 

Each word that fell from Aziraphale’s lips soaked into the humming pleasure rising within him until he felt as if his skin was too small to contain the mass of emotions swelling within him. Sheer heady lust tangled with the white hot feelings he felt for the angel that he could barely manage to put into words, even to himself. The two emotions he had always thought would go together like oil and vinegar instead slowly coalescing into one, the feelings so new and intense he could hardly stand it, his hands blindly reaching for Aziraphale, grasping his shoulders, fingers digging into him as he gasped, shuddered and cried out loudly, “Ah, ah, oh, _ngk_ , I’m going to—oh— _Aziraphale!_ ”

He barely registered the sound of Aziraphale catching his breath as he worked him through the orgasm, tightening his grip just enough to meet the demands of Crowley’s hips bucking up, then resting his hand possessively over his cock as it softened. Eyes closed, he floated in a pleasure induced haze, not realizing that he had just about been pulled under the heavy blanket of sleep until Aziraphale’s voice jolted him more awake.

“Crowley?” 

He detected a note of uncertainty in the Aziraphale's voice and managed to drag his eyelids open to look up at him with half lidded eyes.

“Mrph?” he asked eloquently. 

Aziraphale looked down and removed his hand, performing a small miracle to clean things up. Crowley felt vaguely disappointed; his hand was warm and he liked warm, he liked the angel’s hand on him, and those two things together were pretty great. He didn’t mind the mess either— he also wouldn’t mind getting Aziraphale absolutely filthy from their activities—now there’s a thought—

His drowsy musings were interrupted by Aziraphale softly asking “Was that okay? You got so quiet— I’m sorry if I—”

The anxious tone in Aziraphale’s voice, tinged with desperation, woke him up the rest of the way rapidly as he hurriedly said, “No— I mean yes— it was perfect, you’re perfect— sorry, I started to drift off like a total twit, m’fault, not yours.”

Blue eyes flicked back up hopefully. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, turning towards Aziraphale to curl into him and bringing his hand up to caress his cheek, who leaned into it. “You’ve reduced me to a big floppy noodle of freshly fucked glowy bits. Well, maybe not literally fucked yet, but we can fix that technicality…”

“ _Crowley_.” Aziraphale said slightly disapprovingly. 

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re _really_ going to quibble about language when you just had your hand on my cock?”

Aziraphale’s mouth twitched as he made a noncommittal noise, the tension easing from his eyes. 

Crowley languidly moved his hand to drift down the angel’s chest, but Aziraphale’s hand caught his when he started to move lower, bringing it up to press a kiss against the knuckles. 

“I would very much enjoy feeling you touch me, my dear. But this morning I’m far more interested in exploring you. And telling you how I feel about you. Like just now, how utterly gorgeous you looked when you came, how truly breathtaking it was, and how much I want to see it again.”

Crowley flushed, pink staining his cheeks and neck as a sudden warmth bloomed in his chest. “Shut it angel. You talk too much,” he grumbled.

Aziraphale gave him a smug look. “Oh, do I? Hmm, then I’ll just have to find something else to do with my mouth…” he said, while lowering his head and mouthing along his neck, then shifted himself on top of the demon, pushing him flat against the mattress, moving down his chest trailing kisses and licks with an obvious destination in mind. Crowley groaned, his body impossibly already responding despite his release mere moments ago. Aziraphale positioned himself over Crowley’s pelvis, idly stroking his hip and looked up. 

“I plan to bring you to the brink of orgasm, then stop while I explore every inch of your magnificent torso while you are helpless underneath me. I want to discover how you like my mouth against your neck, and how you like your nipples licked, or sucked, or bit while I rub against you. Then I want to finally take you into my mouth and bring you slowly to the edge until you come so hard that all you’re aware of is me against your skin. And I want you to know, to feel deeply that I want to do this because I love you endlessly, forever. Do I have your permission to continue?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes. “Ngk. Erm, yes, please, want yes.”

Aziraphale gave him a positively devilish smile. “Then let’s begin, dear boy.” And as his mouth descended down Crowley saw stars.


	10. Danish Delights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As always, a special thank you to my darling readers that have let me know what you think of my writing. I’m especially blown away by some of the recent comments and blush with giddy glee at your praise._
> 
> _Here's a spicy bit for your reading pleasure, followed by light angst._

The morning was bright with the gleaming rays of sunlight holding the promise of a triumphant return to warmer days. Crowley tilted his face up into the sun as he strode, the slide of light against his skin reflective of his own feelings of late, golden bursts of warm delight that cropped up with a regularity that he was very unused to but found himself relishing. 

With a last appreciative glance at the sunlit soaked streets, he opened the door to the bookshop and sauntered in, calling out “Prepare for today’s irresistible temptation of Danish delights!”, triumphantly holding a small paper bag aloft. The fact that Aziraphale had lost weight during their time apart had not escaped Crowley’s notice and he was on a personal campaign to restore the angel back to his enticingly plush self. 

“Mmm. Sounds delightful,” came the distracted sounding reply from behind a bookshelf.

Crowley followed the sound of the voice to see Aziraphale balancing two open books in his hands, apparently deciding that reading only one book at a time was for lesser beings. 

Feeling a bit put out that books won Aziraphale’s bid for attention yet again, Crowley decided that the only thing to do was to teach those upstart books a lesson and show them who really had the upper hand in the angel’s heart. He set the pastry bag down and sidled up behind Aziraphale, sliding his hands around his waist and dipping down to nuzzle the angel’s neck. 

“Mmmmm.” 

Crowley noticed with satisfaction that this time the sound Aziraphale made was much more languid and focused on him, although he was still looking down at his books. Crowley’s pique rose. This simply wouldn’t do at all. He trailed his mouth up Aziraphale’s neck, pressing kisses against the creamy flesh, up to run his tongue along the curve of an ear to murmur, “The Danishes were fresh baked this morning and will be warm in your mouth as you _bite_ —” he nipped an earlobe “—into it.” He smiled in satisfaction as Aziraphale’s breath caught. 

“They’re filled with creamy lemon curd that will _slide_ —” he moved his hands down to caress the inner crease of the angel’s thighs, over to lightly brush between his legs, then back up to his hips. “—like liquid silk onto your tongue, filling your mouth in a way that will feel so _good_ —” he tightened his hands to pull Aziraphale into him as he undulated his pelvis against him. His own breath caught at the feel of the delicious slide of his own hardening cock against the angel’s backside. _Oh bleached saint’s bones._ He had started this to tease Aziraphale— and show those books who’s boss— but he was getting just as worked up as his intended target. He felt Aziraphale shiver under him as he slid his hands back down below the angel’s waist to feel the shape of his growing bulge in his trousers. 

“I’ve always hated icing, did you know that?” he murmured as he continued to nuzzle Aziraphale’s neck while languidly stroking him over his trousers. “The kind that’s drizzled on the very Danish I bought you. The kind that sticks to your lips as you bite into it so that you have to _lick your lips clean with your tongue_ while I watch.” 

His voice roughened into a growl. “The kind that clings to your fingers and you have _no idea_ how much it drove me insane every single fucking time I’ve watched you lick your fingers clean, each finger disappearing into your mouth as you suck it, making me desperately wonder for centuries if you would suck me with as much pleasure as you give the crumbs that I’m hopelessly envious of. That’s what you reduce me to, you bastard. Being jealous of a blessed pastry.”

Aziraphale gave a low, guttural moan and snapped the books closed, hastily shoving them onto the shelf. He whirled around to grab Crowley’s arms, pulling to fling him around and shove him against the bookcase hard enough to make it wobble threateningly. He pressed his lips against Crowley’s hard, as if he could devour him like the delicacy waiting patiently in the forgotten paper bag. One manicured hand slid up to curl firmly around the back of Crowley’s neck, the other downwards to wrap around the back of his hip to pull him forward into his thigh, holding him tightly as he rocked against him. 

_Holy shit_. This must be rather like what his Bentley felt like when he floored it, gleefully screeching from a sedate roll to blazing glory in no time flat. Aziraphale was ferocious against him, his mouth almost bruising in it’s force which Crowley greedily took all of and gave back just as aggressively, his hands blindly curling around what flesh they could grab ahold of to haul him closer. 

Aziraphale let go of possessing his mouth to move down to his jaw. Crowley’s head tipped back into the bookcase, moaning as that hot wet mouth trailed down his neck and then sucked hard enough to leave marks. He wasn’t sure when exactly the tables tipped from being the seducer to being the seduced but he was certainly enjoying the ride in more ways than one as he ground onto Aziraphale’s thigh, taking quick hitching breaths. 

When Aziraphale took a small step back something deep and visceral in Crowley whined at the lack of the angel’s solid body against his and he leaned forward to chase his lips. But Aziraphale raised a hand to Crowley’s chest, firmly and with a hint of force pushing him back against the bookcase. Obediently Crowley settled back, waiting, his body aching with want. Holding eye contact, something dark and molten radiating through his pale lashes, Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s belt, unbuckling it with firm deliberate movements. The button and zipper on the jeans were dealt with next and then his hands paused on the waistband of Crowley’s jeans. Still locking eyes with Crowley, he tilted his head to regard him, asking, “Okay?”

“Fuck _yes_ ,” Crowley growled, upon which Aziraphale gave him a feral grin and shoved his jeans and pants down in one smooth motion, dropping to his knees. Before Crowley could do much more than to take in the sight of the angel on his knees in a position of prayer his cock was engulfed smoothly to the hilt and he was being sucked him so hard, almost devoured, that the only thing that kept him upright was his hands wrapped tightly around the shelf behind him. 

_Crowing Christ in a henhouse._ His mind stuttered at the liquid intensity of pleasure threatening to make him go supernova, to explode into millions of infinitesimal motes to spiral upwards to mingle with the stardust of celestial bodies. While that glorious wet slide continued he dimly felt Aziraphale’s hands pushing at the inside of his thighs and he obligingly moved his feet a little farther apart, as much as the jeans around his legs would let him. He felt a smooth hand caress his trembling inner thighs, then move up to cup his balls, then farther inward… he quite possibly forgot how to breathe, how to keep his heart beating, how to keep fucking existing on this earthly plane as an oiled finger circling his entrance once, twice, three times before slowly pushing into him.

“Ah, nymph— ngk— myrf— oh sweet blessed _fuck_ ,” he gasped out, looking down at the impossibly erotic sight of the angel on his knees below him, white blonde curls bobbing, his mouth wrapped around his cock, cheeks hollowed out with the force of his sucking, one hand wrapping those perfect fingers around the base of his cock, the other hand disappearing between his legs. His peak was hurtling too fast towards him; he wanted to make it last, to ride the fiery comet just a little longer. He tried desperately to focus on something else— a dented fender, a scratch in black paint, a crack in a windshield— _saints_ it wasn’t going to be enough, he was going to— he moaned out a tiny “ _No_ …” 

Immediately the warm wetness left his cock and the hands withdrew, the barreling crash of his impending orgasm abruptly stuttering. _Wha— but—_ panting, he looked wildly down at Aziraphale who had kneeled back on his heels, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, looking up at him with concern.

Crowley floundered at the abrupt change, like a trout gasping for air on a sandy beach. “Ah— what— um, is everything okay?”.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “I should be asking you that my dear.”

 _Yes, okay, me, me, me, more, more, more_ … He wrenched back his libido’s chant with an effort to garble out, “What? Why?”

Aziraphale gave him that look he reserved for when he was being particularly obtuse. “You said no.”

Crowley started to deny it, his tongue on the roof of his mouth to form the first syllable, but then belatedly replayed the past minutes in his head to realize he technically had. “Oh, for— that wasn’t meant for you, I was trying to keep myself from spilling my wad like a teenager so I could last longer, you know?”

“ _Oh_.” Aziraphale smiled up at him, relief apparent on his face.

Crowley shook his head disbelievingly. “Look, we have _really_ got to figure something else out here, like a bloody safe word so you don’t think you have treat me like a delicate fucking flower.”

Aziraphale perked up, his eyebrows rising with interest. “That sounds intriguing. What’s a safe word?”

Crowley face palmed in exasperation. “It’s— _no_. We are _not_ going to have that discussion right now. Because I know you’ll want details, and examples, and want to debate about what the word will be and there is no fucking way I can manage to stay hard during all of that.”

Aziraphale’s smile widened and he chuckled softly, his eyes drifting back down to look at the stiff member jutting upwards in front of him, glistening from saliva. “Hmmmm.” he hummed consideringly, rising back up on his knees. “I certainly am in agreement that it would be a shame to waste such a _delightful_ —” he reached out to firmly take Crowley in hand once more. “—opportunity to take care of my darling boy.” A pink tongue darted out to glide up his length, while he looked up at Crowley coyly. 

“Um, yeah.” Crowley managed breathlessly. “A right shame— _ahh_!” The breath expelled from deep within his chest as he was engulfed again, slowly at first, then steadily increasing in pace. Crowley’s hands found their way into the angel’s hair, fisting his fingers into the soft curls that tickled his knuckles.

The mouth around him felt great, fantastic even, but there was a part of him that had been tantalized, teased and was quivering with need after the abrupt cessation of attention… he shuffled his feet a little wider hopefully. Without changing his pace, Aziraphale slid his hand back down between his legs, caressing his perineum while Crowley struggled not to writhe. _Oh for fuck sake, for everything holy, please, please…_ As a finger finally slid back into him he had to yank his hands away from Aziraphale’s hair to resume his death grip on the shelf behind him to keep himself upright. 

His hips began helplessly jerking to the dual sensations of the mouth on his cock and the finger buried deep inside of him. The tortuous delicious pressure came in steady pulsating waves and then Aziraphale crooked his finger _just_ right and it was too much, he couldn’t hold back any longer— his hips bucked into Aziraphale’s mouth as he hoarsely cried out and his world narrowed to a white hot peak of pleasure. 

His knees finally gave up their valiant effort to keep him vertical and he slid down in a heap, draped over Aziraphale who caught him in strong arms, holding him close while pressing tender kisses to his head. Crowley nuzzled under Aziraphale’s jaw, rubbing his nose and cheek into the soothing scent of his skin while the thundering of his heart slowed. After he came out of the orgasm induced haze he pulled back to look into Aziraphale’s eyes. “That was bloody fantastic. _You’re_ bloody fantastic. I want to do that to you right now, take you up against your precious books.” 

His hands eagerly moved down to undo the button on Aziraphale’s trousers. Then he saw it, the flick of eyes down and away, and his hands stilled in uncertainty with Aziraphale’s next words. 

“Of course my dear, although perhaps not just now, I should taste those delectable treats you were so thoughtful to bring me— you said they were still warm, didn’t you? They’re not quite as delightful once they’ve cooled.” He pressed a brief kiss to Crowley’s lips and made a motion to get up, which was hampered by the fact that Crowley made no move to shift off of the lap he was partially sprawled across.

Crowley’s brow furrowed. Something had suddenly changed between them, a shifting from the erotic play and tender cuddling to a cooler distance he didn’t know how what to make of. It’s not like Aziraphale was required to let him yank his trousers down but he could feel how the angel had tensed underneath him and he was looking away from him, face guarded.

He reached down and palmed the still prominent bulge under Aziraphale’s trousers, watching the angel’s face. “You don’t have to, of course, but you can’t convince me you’re not interested.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes briefly then quickly disentangled himself, standing up. “Of course I always want you, how could I not, you tempting creature? I’ll make some tea to go with the danishes, do you want some?” He turned, bustling off to the kitchen.

Crowley slowly pulled his clothes to rights, trying to figure out what had just happened. Things had been going so well between them— great actually— and now inexplicably Aziraphale was acting odd and shutting him out, right after he very enthusiastically gave him a blow job that would give the seven wonders of the world a run for their money. 

He followed Aziraphale into the kitchenette and leaned against the counter, watching the angel fuss with the teakettle while carefully not looking at him. 

After endless years of being alone in the dark of night, when Crowley couldn’t hold himself back any longer, he would let himself bring out the jagged shard of a fantasy of belonging to Aziraphale in every way that mattered, and gaze at it before shoving it deep back into his shriveled yearning demonic heart where it belonged. But now, _now_ his desperate, despairing fantasy had come true. Now he wasn’t imagining, he was certain of the affection behind lingering touches, warm glances, he was intoxicated with wrapping his arms around the angel who readily embraced him back, of lying his head in Aziraphale’s lap while he read, fingers stroking through his hair, of hearing _my darling, my love_ fall readily from the angel’s lips, of kissing those lips with affection, with love, with passion… 

He had gotten the impression that Aziraphale wanted to progress their physical relationship slowly, which he didn’t particularly feel was necessary but was fine with. But as he thought through the events that had happened since they reconciled he mentally smacked himself upside his head. _Stupid, stupid demon_. He had been so swept under the tide of it all, drunk on the new abundance of affection that so overflowed his rational thought he somehow hadn’t noticed that although Aziraphale had with eager willingness and great enthusiasm given him mind blowing orgasms he had not once allowed Crowley to do the same for him, always deflecting, redirecting, often encouraging Crowley to fall asleep afterwards, his limbs heavy with satiated pleasure. 

He narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. Something was very much not right here. “You’re not getting out of this one angel. We have to talk about this. What’s the point of us going through all of this shit if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale stilled, tension evident in the set of his shoulders and thinly pressed lips, looking miserably into the sink as if it held some kind of answer. The silence stretched out between them, building in tension. Crowley folded his arms against the impulse to reach out to comfort Aziraphale, figuring he could wait the rest of the year standing there staring him down if that’s what it took. But then he suddenly realized with a flash of astonished insight that he _could_ give him comfort. That although maybe he couldn’t have for millennia past, things were different now. _They_ were different now. For a moment he forgot how to, so surprised by his revelation he had to remind himself what he needed to do next. _Step forward._ Two steps took him behind the angel. _Hug him_. He grimaced, No, he didn’t like that word, seemed far too undemonic. _Wrap around him._ Hmm. That could do; that was more evocative of images of an octopus coiling around it’s prey. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, who started in surprise.

“Angel. Please,” he said softly into his ear. “I know that both of us are rubbish at this but you said yourself that in order for _us_ to work we have to be able to talk to each other.” 

Aziraphale bowed his head and whispered, “You’re right.”

“‘Course I’m right. I’m always right, just ask me.”

Crowley was gratified to see a small smile at the edge of Aziraphale’s lips. He pressed a kiss to the head next to his and waited.

To do something with his hands, Aziraphale picked up a teacup, turning it around, tracing the raised pattern on the edge with his thumb. “The thing is, I don’t trust myself,” he said hesitantly.

Crowley tightened his octopus arms and made an encouraging noise. 

“I— I’m so afraid of hurting you again, I couldn’t bear it, I don’t deserve having you touch me like that— I _can’t!_ ” he said angrily, throwing the teacup into the sink which broke, white shards flying.

“Hey, hey, come here.” Crowley said, turning him around and pulling Aziraphale into his arms who accepted the embrace but stood rather stiffly against him. He stood there thinking while he ran his hands along his back and pressed a kiss onto his head. The puzzle pieces began to click together in his head. He thought about their first time together, about Aziraphale driving him mindless with pleasure in the bedroom, how he shoved him up against the bookshelf just now, how the angel had to have everything _just so_ in his bookshop, the precise way he went about everything in life, phrases the angel said to him; _Don’t you want me to possess you? I will see you come undone for me.… while you are helpless underneath me..._

“First of all, we could get into an endless debate until the end of time on who deserves who. I’m literally a God damned demon, how can possibly deserve a blessed angel? Let alone one that I’ve wanted since the dawn of mankind? Let the past lie where it belongs, Aziraphale.” he said firmly. “I’m only interested in what happens now, with us, together.” 

He paused, realizing something and winced. “Ah, shit, some of this is my fault, I haven’t told you what you need to hear from me.” He leaned back and placed his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s face, tilting his head down to look into anxious blue eyes. “ _I forgive you._ ”

Aziraphale stilled, closing his eyes tightly. 

Crowley waited a few beats, then with Aziraphale didn’t move he said, concerned, “Ah, angel?”

Aziraphale made an inarticulate cry and lunged forward, grasping Crowley tightly against him. Crowley embraced him back just as hard and waited for the angel in his arms to take a shuddering breath and relax against him before speaking again. 

“M' sorry, I forget this whole forgiveness thing is more of a big deal for you than it is for me. I forgave you a while back but kinda forgot about it.”

“You _forgot_ about forgiving me?” Aziraphale said incredulously, muffled against Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Well, uh, yeah? I’m not really interested in living in the past, ‘specially since it, you know, kinda messes me up to do that. So, hey, you’re forgiven, so now we can move past all that right?”

Aziraphale snorted, shaking his head. “You insufferable— _argh! _” he yelled, apparently losing the ability to articulate.__

____

____

Crowley smirked and then nudged Aziraphale’s head up a little, angled his own down to look at Aziraphale's face and spoke softly. “Now that’s out of the way, the other thing I’m beginning to realize that you like to be dominant with sex and you’re afraid I can’t handle it. Am I right?”

Aziraphale blushed deeply and ducked his head, looking away. _So that wasn’t a no then_. Crowley’s long fingers lifted Aziraphale’s chin to bring him back up and looked into his eyes. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, angel, not with me. I’ll happily give you what you want… you can tie me up so I can’t move and fuck me while I’m helpless beneath you… you can put a collar on me and bring me to the brink of orgasm over and over again until I’m shaking, begging you on my knees for release… you can bend me over your desk, pushing me down and holding my wrists against my back while you thrust into me forcefully…”

Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley spoke, a low helpless moan falling from his lips as his hands convulsed, gripping the demon tightly.

Crowley brushed his mouth against the angel, who leaned into him, and pulled back. “I want those things too, and believe me, we will do all of that and so much more. But it has to be a two way street. I want, I _need_ to give you pleasure. I’m thinking that not only do you need to stop feeling guilty you also need to learn to give up control, to give yourself to me.” 

He smirked as a thought occurred to him and gave a low throated chuckle. “Let a demon teach an angel how to make love.”

Aziraphale gave a little huff of laughter despite himself at the absurdity of that statement, and leaned his head into Crowley. After some time he slowly nodded. “I’d like that.” he said softly.

“Yeah, me too.” Crowley said with a smile. “Now that’s settled, yeah? Prepare yourself to be ravished, hmm, tomorrow night.” 

Aziraphale raised his head, taken aback. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, that’ll give you the time I know you need to mull it over while I go crazy with anticipation. Now then, how about those danishes?” He stepped away from the bemused angel and turned to pull out plates.

+++++++++++++++++++++

The day ticked on normally enough, but the knowledge that Crowley had a specific time planned to progress their intimate relationship was slowly driving Aziraphale mad. His mind still had misgivings but his body somehow seemed to have gotten the message that it had been given a green light and didn't seem to understand why things couldn’t be attended to _right this instant_ as he shifted yet again in his chair with an inconvenient tightening in his trousers. 

And Crowley, that serpentine bastard, seemed to know it. When he announced he was going back to his own flat to sleep for the night Aziraphale tried to entice him to stay with a long, lingering kiss, his hands wrapped in Crowley’s coat, tugging him back towards the stairs. The demon followed him for two steps and then stopped, pulling back to grin at him cheekily. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah? Let’s go out for brunch somewhere.” And then he was gone, leaving Aziraphale’s libido quite displeased with the current state of things.

He pursed his bookshelves… _where he had shoved Crowley onto earlier, his mouth around that hard velvety shaft_. He tried working for a while in the back room on updating his ledger… _where Crowley had ground himself against his thigh, grunting sounds of pleasure falling from his lips_. He threw his pencil down in exasperation, leaning back in his swivel chair to stare at the ceiling. 

Maybe he needed a shower; the warm water might help him relax. But then realized his error in judgement as he was naked under the spray thinking of that time he had been in there with Crowley. Oh, heaven, the demon was gorgeous, all of that water slicked skin, the increasing thickness of his cock under the spray as he watched...he helplessly wrapped his hand around himself, stroking. If Crowley’s legs hadn’t buckled, what might have happened? Would Crowley have allowed him to turn him around to push him against the shower wall, licking the back of his wet neck as he rolled his groin against him? 

His hand tightened around his shaft as a grunting moan escaped him. He could have prepared him thoroughly, his oiled fingers moving inside of the demon until Crowley was shaking and begging for him to take him… ah, then yes, he would slide in and it would feel so _exquisite_ and Crowley would look so perfectly delectable, his hips canted outwards to meet his thrusts, his head pressed against the tile, and Aziraphale would lean forward and tell him to touch himself, now there’s a good boy, and Crowley would wrap his hand around his shaft and they would— would— Aziraphale came hard with a deep groan, hips jerking, wishing a different hand was on him. 

He leaned his head against the cool tile with a sigh. Crowley was right. This sort of thing just took the edge off and he had to admit he yearned for the demon to pleasure him almost as much as he wanted to give it. Tomorrow night… he could do it, he could do it… he could try...


	11. Origami and Ardor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter was delayed because oh my goodness I had TERRIBLE writer's block! For the longest time I felt like I had to drag every word out of my brain like sticky taffy, then I hated most of what I initially wrote and had to scrap it. So I took a break to work on another story I'm drafting ('cause writing a human Good Omens AU about pirates and vengeful water spirits is crazy enticing right now), then finally managed to come back to this one and pull something coherent together._
> 
> _I hope you like it, as always a special thank you to my lovely dears that have let me know how they like this story. All comments, suggestions, and musings are appreciated and welcome. Stay safe._

Crowley breezed through the door mid morning and stopped short at the sight of hundreds of paper cranes, horses, dragons, and other assorted animals littering the bookshop. 

“Picked up a new hobby?”

Aziraphale huffed. “I couldn’t concentrate on reading and needed something to keep my hands busy. I had a book on how to fold origami, so…” he flapped a hand over the folded figures. 

“Huh.” Crowley crouched down to pick up a bright blue paper bobcat and peered at it. “Can I make them battle each other to the death?”

“If you must. But do let us go to brunch first, you’ve slept in so late we’ll barely make it there in time before they change the menu over to lunch.”

Crowley pressed the back of his hand to his brow dramatically. “Oh, the inhumanity of those fickle humans; insisting on weirdly specific meals for different times of the day. How will a poor defenseless angel ever manage?”

“I suppose he’ll have to manage by smiting the next demon that crosses his path out of divine retribution for what was likely the whispering suggestion straight from Hell to do such a thing in the first place.” 

Crowley’s eyebrows climbed up as he unfolded his lean frame to a more or less upright position. “So I’m to blame for the creation of _brunch_? Oh, that would be rich, I can just imagine submitting a report claiming credit for that. I can see it now, trying to explain to Lucifer how pulling the menu of mostly breakfast foods and Mimosas sows great seeds of discontent among the masses….” he trailed off thoughtfully. “Actually, maybe you have something there… almost too bad they’ve cut me off, I might’ve gotten a commendation for that one...”

“If you’re _quite_ done reminiscing about the good old days, shall we go?” Aziraphale grumbled, stepping around to pull on his camel colored overcoat. Crowley grinned at him and flicked the bobcat into the air, watching it sail across the sea of small pointy animals and land with a bounce. 

The fact that they got to brunch just in time was nothing short of a miracle and Aziraphale surveyed the eggs Benedict with a satisfied sigh before tucking into them. Crowley limited his ordering to blueberry coffee cake and a cappuccino, taking a few occasional bites and then wordlessly pushing the plate over to the angel when he began eyeing it, receiving a delighted smile in return. As they sat at the white linen covered table Aziraphale felt the restless anxiety provoking the paper folding frenzy fade, as the familiar, comforting presence of Crowley by his side soothed him like the slowly sinking warmth of a fire pressing in against the skin.

_Prepare yourself to be ravished._ Crowley had said. Well. That did sound delightful, although he wasn’t really sure what sort of preparation he should be doing. Crowley certainly seemed willing, eager even to participate in the ravishing… _although in your arrogance you assumed he was willing the first time you took him into your bed, and nearly lost him forever_ … The coffeecake suddenly seemed to stick in the mouth and he hurriedly took a large drink of tea, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He pushed the dish away and focused his attention on the demon, who was telling him about an American singer with great enthusiasm, his hands waving in air. “And she’s actually _Catholic_ , wears a bloody cross and everything, but gyrates all over the stage like a pole dancer, it’s fantastic. And some of her songs are brilliant, maybe faster than what you like, but you should give it a listen, you might be surprised…” 

Aziraphale smiled at the demon, sweeping his own thoughts under the rug under the the rug to bask in the warmth of seeing Crowley happy and by his side.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After brunch Crowley suggested a visit to an Asian history museum— “Seems fitting angel, considering your new obsession with making little paper animal armies for me to torment.”. Aziraphale expressed delight at the idea, commenting that he had not spent as much time in those countries as he would have liked. The last time he was in China they still had emperors and he had read that it had changed quite a bit since then.

Crowley trailed him around, amusing himself by inventing improbable uses for the artifacts, sexual uses whenever he could think of one, and gleefully telling them all to Aziraphale, who mostly ignored him except for the occasional eye roll and a drawl of “ _Really_ my dear.” when he was being particularly outrageous, including a piercing glare for good measure if they happened to be within earshot of humans. 

He watched Aziraphale lean over to read the label below the display of a Samurai warrior’s armor. “Oh, look dearest, it says here that Zen meditation became an important part of Samurai culture as a process to calm the mind. How fascinating that a warrior culture found value in that, I rather wish that had caught on in Europe, might have helped avoid a few wars in my opinion…”

“Let’s go there.” Crowley without thinking.

Aziraphale lifted his head and angled back to look at him. “What?”

He cocked his head, warming to the idea. “Let’s go. To China or Japan— whichever you want. I bet they have to have even better museums in the actual country they came from and I know you love their food. They’ll probably have to over fish their part of the ocean just to keep up with your ravenous maw of an appetite for sushi.”

Aziraphale gaped a little, turning more fully to face him, hands finding their way to his tan waistcoat striped with thin white lines and tugging down on it unnecessarily. For a reason that Crowley couldn’t quite define, he sounded uncertain as he asked haltingly, “You’d be willing to do that with me?”

Not sure what was causing the sudden intense regard with which Aziraphale was looking at him, Crowley went for his normal defensive projection of casual indifference and shrugged. “Oh sure, it would be nice to get out of London for a tick. I’m sure they have interesting stuff to see, but I don’t really care where I am as long as I’m with you.” The words slipped out before he realized it and he shut his mouth abruptly, embarrassed. He still wasn’t used to expressing his feelings for Aziraphale out loud, and although he’d had more practice at it lately he wasn’t entirely sure he would ever get comfortable with it.

“ _Oh Crowley._ ” Aziraphale stared at him with huge eyes, dark with intent in the dim light of the museum. Crowley took in that gaze like a punch to his gut, his breath leaving him in a gust of an exhale as he felt the pricking of that hungry look against his skin. 

After holding him helplessly dangling on a tether under the heavy weight of his gaze finally Aziraphale spoke, in a clipped, precise way that seemed incongruous with the heat behind his words. “I know that you have a specific plan for us this evening my dear, but I don’t feel that I can wait a moment longer and really must insist that you take us home _right now_.”

Crowley swallowed hard, nodding in agreement as he was unable to make any noises that would resemble anything meaningful in the way of communication push forward from his throat. He slotted Aziraphale’s hand tightly with his own and led him back out of the building. After he shut Aziraphale’s car door he briefly considered sliding across the hood Dukes of Hazzard style— he had always wanted to try that after watching that rather ridiculous American show— but considering that he was just as likely to fall on his ass it wasn’t worth the risk of having Aziraphale laughing hysterically at him. That would be a surefire way to break the mood of whatever had seized ahold of the angel, and he would be damned— again— if he would do anything to endanger that. 

They made it back to the bookshop in record time, Aziraphale for once not seeming to notice the hairpin turns and disregard for traffic lights, or indeed, traffic. Instead his intense eyes were steadily fixed on Crowley, his hand resting on the demon’s thigh, thumb slowly stroking in a manner that had Crowley seriously contemplating braking with a screeching halt and manhandling the angel into the back seat to take him hard in the middle of the late afternoon traffic. That thought put him further in a fervor, the idea of him ravishing Aziraphale _in the Bentley_ suddenly shooting up to the top of the list of his fantasies involving the angel that he _really_ wanted to make into reality.

Once they finally managed to park in front of the bookshop Crowley didn’t move to get out, his hands clenched on the steering wheel, trying to slow down his pounding pulse. His straining cock was pinned at an awkward angle uncomfortably against his tight jeans. He made no move to adjust himself, unwilling to reward the sharp drive of his desire to take the angel forcefully, which was absolutely not what needed to happen next between them. _Later_. He told his raging libido sternly. _I will give in to you later. If you don’t behave yourself right now I’ll— I’ll—wank every day for a week without letting you come. So there._

He was outwardly silent for long enough yelling at his libido that Aziraphale said hesitatingly, “We certainly don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for my dear.” and started to remove his hand from Crowley’s thigh. 

Crowley shot his hand down, firmly pinning Aziraphale’s hand where it was. _Right, get ahold of yourself you idiot wanker._ He finally turned to angle his body towards Aziraphale who had a furrow creasing his brow and held himself tense and unsure, his earlier controlled confidence fading. Crowley ached to pull back the feeling of a charged tightrope between them, wanting nothing more than to banish the doubt he saw deep in the angel’s blue eyes. He pulled off his sunglasses, tossing them into the backseat (where he wanted to pound the angel senseless— _later, later_ ) and reached out, sliding his free hand along the softness of Aziraphale’s cheek, who fluttered his eyes closed and leaned into it with a soft exhale. 

He leaned over to meld their mouths together, keeping the pace slow, leisurely, as their tongues rolled into each other. He drew the kissing out, keeping it teetering on the edge of lust, eventually drawing back to admire Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks and plump well kissed glistening lips. 

“Let’s go inside, angel.” he whispered.

Aziraphale lips stretched out in a smile that was somehow both bright with happiness and warm with heated promise and nodded.

Once inside, Crowley pulled Aziraphale up the stairs to the flat. They stopped at the foot of the bed somewhat awkwardly, Aziraphale looking up at Crowley under his eyelashes shyly, his expression almost solemn.

Crowley reached out slowly, fingers dancing over the bow tie, untangling the fabric’s hold against the angel’s throat. The strip of tartan fabric was slid out and dropped it to the floor with a twinge of satisfaction. Aziraphale remained still, his eyes tracking Crowley’s every move as his bowtie and waistcoat were removed, then shirt buttons unfastened with a twist of fingers. 

Crowley noted with some surprise that Aziraphale didn’t have on his ever present undershirt. “What’s this?” he teased as he slipped his hand inside the shirt to caress the exposed skin. “For you, this is practically walking around naked.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale hummed in appreciation at the caress of fingers. “That’s not the only thing I’m not wearing.”  
Crowley slowly blinked as that sentence filtered through his mind. His hand moved down to press against the bulge in Aziraphale’s trousers. _“Really?”_ he asked delightedly. Seeming a bit ridiculous, really that the idea of Aziraphale going without pants should be so arousing, but it was so unlike the stuffy proper angel it seemed the equivalent of a strip tease. Mmmm, that led him to think about giving Aziraphale a strip tease someday. He knew he could move like sin incarnate and would love to make the angel come undone by watching him...

“Well, this is certainly an improvement.” Crowley purred, leaning down to flick his tongue against Aziraphale’s nipple, bringing it up to a taut pebbled shape. “Drives me mad, how many layers you usually wear and how long it takes me to get through them all.” he grumbled. 

Aziraphale smiled as his breath hitched under his ministrations. “Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes, moving to the other nipple. He was pleased to have gotten Aziraphale distracted in the right direction again. He could sense the angel had a simmering undercurrent of anxiety and was trying to cast out nets to see what he could do to draw him out of his head space. “Aristotle was a pompous twat. You really think now is the time to quote him at me?”

“What I think is that you have much better things you could be doing with that mouth than being cheeky with me.” he retorted tartly, then widened his eyes, as if surprised at what came out.

Crowley quirked an eyebrow, purring in a pleased growl, “You do make an excellent point.” He bent down to apply the mouth under discussion to Aziraphale’s neck, sliding his hands around the bare skin underneath the back of his shirt. Aziraphale gave a hitching sigh, his arms rising up to clutch at him. Crowley let his hands map out the locations of the ridge of the shoulder blades, the small bumps of the spine, sliding down over the belt to feel the curve around full buttocks, then gliding back up again. As he applied sucking kisses to the arched neck underneath him he relished feeling as much as hearing the soft throaty sounds Aziraphale was making, every noise sinking into his skin, spreading a molten warmth underneath the surface. 

Crowley trailed his lips upward to capture that breathless mouth with his own and stepped backwards, pulling Aziraphale towards the bed. He started to climb on, but Aziraphale held back and said “Crowley, _shoes._ ”

Crowley looked at him in disbelief. “If you’re really going to complain about shoes on the bed _now_ of all times then I’m not distracting you well enough.”

Aziraphale looked pained. “Well, I suppose it’s not that important, but…”

Crowley gave a wry smile and relented, snapping his fingers. Aziraphale happily wiggled his suddenly bare toes in the rug and let Crowley pull him on the bed onto their knees, their mouths joining again. The angel reached out to fumble at the buttons on Crowley’s shirt, the demon helping to make short work of the task, then the shirt was whisked off and away to its proper place on the floor. As before, as every time, the first sensation of Aziraphale’s hands touching his bare skin was so intoxicating, Crowley felt as though he was drunk on the sensation, his entire awareness focused on a pinpoint of the slide of hands against his skin. As one of Aziraphale’s clever hands slid down to curve around the tightly rounded mounds under his jeans he groaned into the angel’s mouth, eliciting a pleased hum as that hand moved up to palm against his hard cock. 

A trickle of worry crept in that if he let Aziraphale take control they would end up the same way as before, with an unsatisfactory— to him anyway— one sided outcome. With some effort he moved away from licking into the angel’s mouth and trailed his lips along the jaw up to the shell of an ear. “Angel please…” he murmured against Aziraphale’s ear. “...turn around.”

Aziraphale made a questioning noise but obligingly turned around, leaning back into Crowley with a satisfied sigh as the demon pressed up behind him, mouthing the back of his neck while his hands snaked around him to have full access to the angel’s front. Aziraphale hitched out a breathless moan, his eyes fluttering shut as Crowley’s fingers slid into his pale curling chest hair, gliding caresses lingering on his nipples, brushing against them lightly, coming back to trace the pebbled outline with delicate fingers, bringing them to full tautness, then gently pinching at the same time he nipped Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale’s head lolled back as he shuddered and sighed under his hands. Crowley smiled against his skin, and slid his hands over the gentle swell of belly, down further, sliding down over his trousers to skim the inside of his thighs and back up again. Oh, by all that was blessed by divinity he wanted with a growing desperate need to feel the angel come apart under his hands, to know that _he_ was the one, the _only_ one who can do that to him… and then do it again, and again… 

But he would take his time, do it slowly, lay himself bare in worship as his mouth traced the curve on the ear, the arch of the throat, the exposed bit of shoulder not covered by his shirt. He wished he had taken the time to remove the shirt, but he didn’t want to part from the warm body he was pressed up against even that much, or do anything to endanger the languid state of arousal the angel had fallen into. Again, and again his hands slipped down, caressing the inside of the angel’s spread thighs, dipping down to run fingers deeper in between his legs, brushing alongside the prominent bulge in tan trousers, then lightly tracing the outline of that hard shape until Aziraphale was pushing his pelvis forward helplessly in an effort to chase the pressure so tantalizing close to, but not touching, his straining erection. “ _Crowley_ …” he pleaded, one hand reaching back to twine into the hair on the back of the demon’s head.

“Mmm…” Crowley hummed in response, the raw need in the angel’s voice singing to him, as he pushed his own erection hard against Aziraphale’s backside as he suddenly flattened his palm and stroked firmly downward on top of the straining bulge, causing Aziraphale to tighten his hand into a fist in Crowley’s hair and gasp, his head falling forward as a tremor ran through his body. 

After a few more firm strokes with his palm he brought his hands up to flick open the trouser button with his fingers, slide the zipper down, and then push down the pale trousers to the angel’s hips to free his cock, hard and straining upwards against his belly. As his hand slid over the velvety shaft he realized in awe this was actually the first time he was holding Aziraphale’s cock fully in his hand. He was mesmerized by the sight of his fingers encircling the hard girth, feeling the hardness of it, grasping firmly and sliding upwards, fingers bumping up against the flared head, running his thumb over the leaking slit before sliding back down to the base nestled in white blonde curls. He dimly noticed in the back of his mind that the wiry curls were more wild and untidy that he kept his own, and idly wondered what Aziraphale would think of the suggestion that he allow Crowley to groom him down there... _focus, you’ve got far better things to think about right now you wanker_.

He pressed his cock up against Aziraphale’s backslide in slow dragging slides, matching the rhythm of his fist pumping on that fantastic cock. It wasn’t enough to get him off, as he hadn’t taken time yet to remove his blasted jeans so the friction was muted by the denim fabric. But perhaps it was just as well, he was getting so turned on by the quivering angel in his arms he’d probably already be coming all over his arse if he had skin to skin contact, which would be distracting from the task he had literally in hand...

Aziraphale was whimpering now, breathless _oh, oh, oh’s_ falling from his open mouth like a chanting prayer, his hips moving in helpless little jerks pumping that wonderfully hard cock like velvet steel sliding in his fist. _This is it_ , he thought in breathless anticipation. Aziraphale would finally fall apart in his arms, he would claim him, make him understand the things he couldn’t say in words, make him _mine, mine, mine_. 

But just as he sensed that tantalizing peaking start to reach a crescendo, as he tightened his grip and started moving faster, Aziraphale suddenly pushed his hands away and fell forward on his palms, panting, a frantic edge to his voice as he cried out, “No— no— I can’t— I’m sorry—”

Anything resembling coherent thought had fled Crowley’s brain when Aziraphale had started that erotic whimpering and he stared stupidly at Aziraphale’s hunched over form for far too long of a moment before the genuine misery of the angel finally slammed into him and kickstarted him into delayed action. He didn’t know what happened, or why he needed to stop, but he could see, could feel Aziraphale’s distress. _Pull yourself together you fucking idiot. He needs you._

Making reassuring noises, he pulled at Aziraphale’s shoulders, kneeling him upright and pulling up his trousers to help him feel less vulnerable. Aziraphale was still breathing in short shallow breaths, eyes fixed firmly down at the bed looking as if he was struggling not to cry. That pulled sharply at something deeply rooted in Crowley’s inner core, hardwired for centuries to protect the celestial being trembling next to him. Acting on instinct, he pulled the angel into his lap, bringing his knees up and arranging him so that he was curled up against his chest, then wrapped his arms tightly around him. He pressed his head against the bright curls below him, rocking slightly, content to hold Aziraphale against him until the end of time if that’s what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A shout out to the marvelous artist who posts as AnotherWellKeptSecret on Patreon. I follow a delightful NSFW comic she's drawing about Aziraphale and Crowley that helped inspire me for this chapter._


	12. Realizations and Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A bit of background as to the why of what happened last chapter, and a bit of fluffy warm fuzzies for you._   
>  _Thank you for your kudos, comments, suggestions, feedback and musings. There are all so very appreciated and welcome._

_He slowly uncurled himself from where he had been huddled on the bed for— hours? days?— he couldn’t even remember how he got home after walking out of the bar, the unwitting Irishman crushing his last hope of finding Crowley. If he only knew where the demon was, or at least knew if he was safe, if he was happy._

__

__

_He heaved himself out of the bed with some effort, his limbs oddly heavy to move. He stood swaying slightly, only barely overcoming the urge to collapse back down into the bed… the same bed where he had eagerly thrust into the unwilling body of his best friend. He squeezed his eyes shut hard against the tremor that ran through him and then opened them again, looking listlessly around the room. His eyes fell upon the oval freestanding mirror in the corner and without conscious thought his feet brought him over to it._

_A few tugs and the bowtie fell from his collar. The waistcoat was unbuttoned with automatic efficiency, then his hands slowed as they undid the shirt buttons. Unbidden, he remembered when Crowley had tried to push him away when he was taking off his shirt and how he had ignored that, refusing to believe the inconvenient truth of the situation._

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_He took a breath, then yanked off his waistcoat and shirt, throwing them angrily to the ground, then looked at his bare torso critically, running a hand over the swell of his belly. Gabriel had told him repeatedly to lose the gut. He was somewhat embarrassed by it and had rather wished in an abstract way his corporation was as trim as the other angels but was far too fond of the Earthly delights of food for that to be a possibility. But Crowley was a creature that enjoyed beautiful things, preferring to assume the look of a walking fashion plate for himself, so of course he wouldn’t be attracted to the appearance of a middle aged librarian, no matter how much Aziraphale had tried to convince himself otherwise. And in his infernal arrogance, his blinding self denial of the obvious, he had done something so terrible, so unforgivable— he steeled his resolve and brought out his wings for the first time since the morning Crowley had left him._

_Staring into the mirror in shock— no, no, no, no, I see gray, they’re turning gray, no, no— he waved his hand to turn the lights on and blinked hard, hyperventilating at the sight of snow white wings fully extended in his panic. He turned and twisted wildly to see them as best he could, reassuring himself that they were a mockingly pristine alabaster as always. Finally he calmed down enough to realize— it’s nighttime you daft idiot, of course they look gray in the dark— and fell onto his knees in crushing relief._

_His voice trembling, he dared to pray. “If You should choose to pass judgement on me, I know that I deserve to Fall. But if I do, please watch over him, please protect him if I won’t be here to do it any longer. He is still Your child and there is such goodness, such kindness in him even though he tries to hide it. I only hope I have the chance to tell him how unworthy I am of the wings on my back, and how so infinitely precious he is to me. That’s uh, it I suppose. I just…” he bowed his head, tears leaking from his eyes. “... I’m so very sorry Mother.”_

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__

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_Oh dear Heaven_ , the hand wrapped around him, firmly stroking him in a manner that he had only dreamed of for so long. He had pleasured himself guiltily in the past, always thinking of a particular ginger haired being when doing so, but the reality of having _Crowley’s_ hand on him was so much better, that it was _Crowley_ that was going to— going to— his eyes snapped open, a flood of anxiety surging through him. The anxiety escalated into full panic when he looked down at the very bed where he had pushed himself onto the entity he held dearest to his heart.

_Oh, he didn’t deserve this, not after what he had done, those endless times of staring into the mirror, wings out, wondering why they weren’t stained black, how could he possibly still be an angel after what he did? He couldn’t take the risk of losing him again, of Crowley abandoning him as all of the heavenly Host already have. Crowley doesn’t have to— to—_

He shoved Crowley's hands away, falling forward on his hands, “No— no— I can’t— I’m sorry—”

He struggled to breathe, forgetting he didn’t need to, and dimly felt hands on him and his clothing tugged up. Sharp disappointment flooded him. Of course Crowley didn’t want to continue trying, the demon had to be tired of him being a whiny mess— it was ridiculous, really, that _he_ should be behaving like this when he was the one who did such a horrible thing to his best friend. He didn’t deserve Crowley’s forgiveness, let alone his affection…

Strong arms pulled at him until he somehow found himself on Crowley’s lap, leaning against the demon’s chest, his legs drawn up at the knees and held tightly in the circle of Crowley’s arms. This was new, he realized with muted amazement. Him curled against Crowley, instead of the other way around. He gradually realized he was being rocked gently in the protective cocoon of Crowley wrapped around his curled up body. The tight embrace and rocking grounded him, sinking down into the core of himself to push against the seething sharp edges threatening to shred him to ribbons. 

His rapid stuttered breathing gradually slowed, the tightness in his chest eased and although he could still hear the faint litany of _you’re pathetic, he doesn’t want you, you don’t deserve him_ in his head he couldn’t stop himself from lifting his head a little and hesitantly nuzzling into Crowley’s neck. Crowley instantly tilted his head closer to him for better access, his hands moving on him in a soothing gesture. 

“I’m sorry—“ he said mumbled wretchedly into the long neck.

“Shhh, there’s nothing to apologize for angel. It’s okay, we’ll work through this.” Crowley gave him a little squeeze. “Together, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded, at a loss as to what he could say. Crowley continued to slowly rock him and after a few minutes of silence asked gently, “Can you tell me what’s happening in that head of yours? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no— of course not, you are absolutely wonderful my dearest. I— it’s me, I—” his throat closed up. Crowley remained silent, waiting. 

He fought against the urge to shrug Crowley off despite the clawing need to have him pressed up against his skin, to open up his very pores and have the demon ooze inside somehow, to bring him so close inside of himself that they could never be parted. He tried to remember, to focus on what Crowley had said. _Yes. I want to be in a relationship with you. A full one._ Oh, he wanted that, yearned for that, but he had so much to make up for, Crowley didn’t have to feel _obligated_ to return his physical affections, it’s fine, it’s fine... 

“Can’t we just go back to the way things were?” he burst out. 

Crowley tensed, his brows drawing together as he drew his head back to look down at Aziraphale. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“These last few weeks, they were lovely— can’t we just do that?” Aziraphale asked pleadingly. 

_“No!”_ Crowley sharply responded. “That was a cock-up on my part— I didn’t realize that you were—” he stopped and sighed. “Aziraphale. Look, I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you’re not ready for or come off like a creepy asshole insisting on getting into your trousers. I never want to do anything to you that you don’t want. But although I know bugger all about being in a relationship I do know that me getting all of the sex and not you isn’t right. I don’t want to do things that way.”

“You, ah, don’t have to, you know.” Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley looked at him quizzically. “Don’t have to what?”

Aziraphale floundered, his hand waving vaguely in the air. “ _This._ Touching me— in that way.”

Crowley loosened his grip enough to draw back to stare at his face in astonishment. “What are you on about? I _want_ to touch you, you daft bastard, so much it’s driving me batshit crazy. Don’t you know how I fe—“ He stopped abruptly, his eyes wide. “Oh.” He dropped his head down. “Blessed holy trinity tap dancing on Lucifer’s fiery balls.” he swore. “I am _such_ a fucking moron.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I uh, just realized some things.” He fell silent.

“Crowley?”

“Hold on a minute, just had a revelation the size of Alpha Centauri and have to figure out what to do about it.” He looked up again, smiling wryly. “Don’t worry about it. C’mere.” He settled Aziraphale back against his arm and leaned in to rub his face against the angel’s, slowly gliding his cheek and nose against the skin and planting intermittent kisses.

No less confused as to what revelation Crowley felt the need to curse so creatively about, Aziraphale felt increasingly soothed by Crowley’s nuzzling. His eyes drifted closed as he lifted his head without thinking to allow more access. Crowley made a pleased noise, moving his hand over to the back of the angel’s head to support it, and moving his mouth over to press lightly against Aziraphale’s, sucking gently on his lower lip before sliding away.

Aziraphale drifted in Crowley’s arms, soaking in the impossibly soothing rub of skin against skin for some time before gradually becoming more aware of his surroundings. He realized he had fallen into some sort of half awake state while Crowley held him, nuzzling and kissing him. He took stock of himself as he opened his eyes a little. He was over the rather embarrassing panic attack he went into in the middle of what was a spectacular hand job. While feeling some residual insecurity, he was much closer to his normal self and was starting to feel a little restless. 

Crowley seemed to sense his change in mood and stopped moving, pulling back. He looked at Aziraphale closely. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him as he loosened his arms. They disentangled themselves, Aziraphale scooting back to give some distance. Crowley leaned forward a little, placing his hand next to Aziraphale's, palm open in invitation. 

Aziraphale stared down at Crowley’s hand, moving two of his fingers over to rest lightly on the palm while he tried to think of what to say. _Terribly sorry to break down over— what’s that term?— jerking me off I think— don’t suppose you’d like to give it another go, now there’s a good chap._ No, he’d much rather walk down the streets of SoHo clucking like a chicken than say something like that. Perhaps something simpler to start with.

“Ah, thank you my dear.” he told the hand.

The hand curled around his two fingers in response. 

“Anything at all you need angel.” he said earnestly. Crowley paused, then asked “Do you trust me?”

“Of course my dear.” Aziraphale responded instantly. 

“All right then. Trust me when I tell you that I want to be with you, but I need to go out for a tick to run some errands. While I’m gone I’d like you to pack an overnight bag.”

That surprised Aziraphale enough that he managed to move his fixed regard of the hand up to Crowley’s steady golden gaze to ask, “What for?”

“Not sure yet.” he replied in a maddeningly nonspecific manner. “Would you like me to stay with you for a while before I go?”

“Oh, I, uh…” He was touched by the consideration. Although he was still feeling foolish and out of sorts, he realized he could actually use some breathing space to try to sort out his emotions. 

“No, that’s quite all right.” In a fit of rare honesty about his feelings, he added, “I’m not quite tip-top but I’m feeling much better, thanks to you.”

Crowley smiled and gave his fingers a last squeeze before he got out of the bed to get dressed. Aziraphale followed suit and was giving a last tug in front of the dresser to straighten his bowtie when his eyes caught Crowley’s in the mirror as he was sliding on his jacket. The demon sauntered over to smirk at him over his shoulder. 

“Seems a bloody shame to see you putting it back on. It looked a lot better crumpled up on the floor.”

Relieved that the tension had let up enough for Crowley to tease him, Aziraphale turned around to scold him. “Listen you, I’ll have you know that— _mrph_.” Whatever he was going to say was lost as Crowley crowded him against the dresser, taking his face in his hands, surprising and delighting Aziraphale as he was soundly kissed for a long glorious moment before drawing apart. 

Crowley let go, his hand sliding down Aziraphale’s arm before dropping away, and walked towards the door. “Don’t forget to pack a bag. I’ll be back within a couple of hours, I think.” And he was gone, leaving Aziraphale bemusedly wondering what the demon was up to. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The day was waning, thin light filtering into the flat’s window as Aziraphale was fretting over the last items to put into his bag— were eight books too many? But the setting can make such a difference in what type of books are best to read and he didn’t know where they were going— yes, perhaps he should tuck in a couple more— he suddenly realized that the honking he had been dismissively ignoring sounded familiar. Crowley had a fairly distinctive way of leaning on the horn followed by short bursts of impatient honking as he whacked it a few times. Sighing, he squeezed the overstuffed bag shut and made his way downstairs.

Once tucked into the Bentley he looked expectantly at Crowley. “Where are we off to?”

“Wait and see.” came the noncommittal reply. 

Normally Aziraphale would huff in frustration at him but he still felt too tentative. Crowley glanced over at him and grabbed his hand, bringing it up to his hand for a kiss before tucking it securely on his lap. 

He drove them to a street a few blocks in from the Thames river, waving a hand to ensure the meter never ran out. Aziraphale stepped out of the car, gesturing at the boot. “Shall I take my bag?”

“Nah, not yet. You won’t need that until later.” 

Aziraphale huffed, annoyed, clamping down on the impulse to ask yet again where they were going. Crowley smirked and walked over to him, taking his hand and lifting it. “You have got to learn how to give up a bit of control angel. Let me lead this dance for once, yeah?” he extended a foot in front of him, knee straight, placing his other arm behind his back and bent at the waist over their hands, planting a kiss on Aziraphale’s knuckles like a seventeenth century courtier. 

Aziraphale softened at the ridiculous gesture, feeling his ears go a little pink. “Oh, all right you, stand up, you’re making a display of yourself.” he scolded. 

Unrepentant, Crowley stood, still smirking but not letting go of the angel’s hand as he led them down a few streets until they came to the river. Dusk was settling in muted hues of purple and gray, gradually turning the streetlights into golden orbs that cast reflections onto the gleaming water. As they walked the drawn out sounds of a violin were heard before they came close enough to see a woman playing by the railing, the wiry mass of graying hair pulled back tightly at the nape of her neck swaying with her as she dipped with her bow as she slid it across the strings. The instrument was well worn, the varnish worn away at the edges and a myriad of small scuffs on the surface hinting of long and varied use, but the strings were new and perfectly tuned as lilting melodies were coaxed from it with every slide of the bow. 

As they neared her Aziraphale’s feet stilled, captivated by the music outpouring from her instrument. He never ceased to marvel at the seemingly infinite creativity of humans, the ability to make glorious music coming in a close second in his mind to the wondrous worlds they could create with the written word. Movement caught his eye and he looked over to see Crowley tossing a fifty pound note into her open violin case. He felt a warmth spread through him at the gesture and extended a blessing to her. She would have an unusually profitable night as passerbys would have a stronger pull than usual to make a contribution.

He made a motion as if to keep walking but Crowley pulled on his hand, taking a side step into his space to face him. Aziraphale looked at him warily as Crowley brought their joined hand up to cradle against his chest and slid the other hand around his coat to the middle of his back. 

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Crowley murmured, as he started swaying them side to side. 

“I don’t really dance my dear— and no one else is doing it—-“ he flicked his eyes to the people passing by them. “—I don’t think that—“

“Shut up angel and put your arm around me.” Crowley said firmly.

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh, I erm, okay I guess.” His left hand moved up Crowley’s arm to rest on his shoulder. The music morphed from the lively tune to something more slow and drawn out, notes lingering in the air around them. Aziraphale felt the change in the music spark something undefinable between them as he stared at Crowley. The demon tightened his grip and pulled him closer, and Aziraphale let his head rest against Crowley’s shoulder with a sigh, their bodies nestled together as Crowley’s feet moved them into a slow swaying dance. After some time of being lost in the haze of the sinuous motion he felt the hand on his back slide to his side, then tuck under his coat to slide to the back again, this time curving around his buttocks. 

Aziraphale’s feet lost their rhythm, stumbling as he felt fingers slide over a more intimate part of his backside.

“Relax angel.” Crowley murmured quietly in his ear. “No one can see.”

It was true, he realized, his long overcoat hid the wandering hand that was languidly caressing the curve of his buttocks. Crowley shifted his body so that they were positioned more off center, his thigh placed between the angel’s legs as the hand behind him tightened to pull him solidly against his hip. The swaying of the dance changed to include a subtle undulation. 

Aziraphale lifted his head and glanced at the violinist, who winked at him with dark almond shaped eyes as the sounds of the violin became heavier, slower, with drawn out sultry purpose. His face flushed and he looked away, struggling with the impulse to step away in embarrassment at what felt like an obscenely erotic public display. But as he looked around him he saw that the people passing them were paying them no attention whatsoever. 

“Look at me, angel, not at them.”

He dragged his eyes back to Crowley, seeing himself reflected in his sunglasses. He brought his fingers up to the edge of them and paused, then when Crowley gave a minute nod he pushed them up into his dark ginger hair. In the dusk of the night it was likely that no one would notice Crowley’s snake slit pupils, and Crowley had mentioned that nowadays if humans saw his eyes he was far more likely to get complimented on his amazing contact lenses than have them recoil in fear. His hand drifted back down to rest on the demon’s cheek, slowly caressing it in tandem with the slide of fingers he felt along the curve of his buttocks. 

Sparks of slow pleasure radiated inwards like fireflies with each languid grind of the pelvis against his groin, and his cock swelled in response, settling into a half erection that matched his mood, the subtle eroticism mixed with the almost tangible pulse of romanticism in the bubble surrounding them. The quieter sounds of London as it slid into night, the soft dimming light lending the earth an otherworldly quality, the beautifully haunting sounds of the music swirling around them… all of it coalesced into a warm mass of feelings within his chest pushing out as if he felt he might burst from it. His hand slid to the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling and his eyes fluttered closed as their mouths met, a slow unhurried brushing of lips that turned open mouthed with nibbling but without tongues, keeping to a tender pace. 

As Crowley's mouth trailed down to press kisses along his jaw he sighed in absolute contentment, letting his head fall back to the demon’s shoulder to rest against him as they swayed. Time stretched on without his notice until he felt as much as heard Crowley’s reluctant low rumbling voice. “I could do this with you forever if you’d like, but there is something I wanted to take you to that starts soon…” 

“Mmmm.” Aziraphale hummed, slowly rousing himself from the somewhat hypnotized state he had fallen into. He rubbed his cheek against the scratchy wool of Crowley’s overcoat, the sensation helping to restart the senses that seemed to have fallen away as they swayed together. He lifted his head with some effort and blinked with heavy lids at Crowley, who smiled at him. He gave him a soft smile back. As difficult as it was to stop, he was quite curious as to what Crowley had planned and he suspected that Crowley would be amenable to the suggestion of exploring this dancing thing again at a future time. 

Taking a deep breath of the chilled air to clear his head of the cobwebs that spun their sticky strands of contented fugue, he took a step back, their arms sliding off of each other but hands still clasped. With a final flourish, the violinist played her last note then stopped, lowering her instrument to rest, smiling at them. Crowley slid his glasses back down before digging into his coat and tossing another fifty pound note into her case. 

Aziraphale held his hand out. “Wherever you lead, I shall follow my dear.”

Hands slotted together, Crowley led him towards their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I am such a sucker for a romantic dancing scene, and violins feel like the epitome of the romantic instrument..._


	13. Melodies and Meanings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I upped the chapter count! This story keeps running away from me and elongating to it’s resolution. It hasn’t felt right to wrap these two up too quickly as they find their way back to each other after such a spectacularly difficult beginning, so now I’ve written most of 15 chapters. There might be a 16th, not sure yet, even though I do have a general plan of the story arc, sometimes I don’t know the specifics of what will happen until I sit down to write it, which often surprises me._

Crowley turned them down a few streets away from the river and they walked into a residential area, coming to a building where there were smartly dressed people milling about, some in a line to go inside. Aziraphale looked at the building curiously. It appeared to be a very small church, old gray stone walls and arched doorway indicating its origins to be at least two hundred years ago. Crowley let go of his hand and crooked his elbow invitingly. 

“Shall we?”

“In _there_?” Aziraphale gestured towards the church in disbelief. 

“Yeah.” Inexplicably, Crowley winked at him and drew Aziraphale’s arm through his own, firmly pulling him towards the door despite the angel’s dragging feet. 

“ _Really_ my dear.” Aziraphale whispered urgently, alarmed. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, if that’s what you’re thinking. I have absolutely no desire to see you suffer on consecrated ground.”

Crowley smirked at him. “You said you trusted me. Time to prove it.”

Aziraphale had no idea how to respond to that and before he knew it Crowley had dragged him to the entrance. Crowley pulled two tickets from inside his coat and handed them to the attendant. They were waved inside, and as Aziraphale was still puzzling over the tickets— he had never been to a church that required tickets to go to the service— it didn’t register right away that they had stepped inside and Crowley was _calmly walking down the center of the pews_. He stopped short in sheer astonishment, staring down at Crowley’s snakeskin boots which were planted firmly on the ground, no tapping as if over hot coals, no smoking wisps curling up from the soles. He raised his eyes up to stare at the demon who had turned to him, a look of careful nonchalance on his face. He held the casual expression for maybe thirty seconds, then his lips twitched. He struggled to keep his mouth firmly pressed together, his cheeks straining, then he completely lost it, doubling over in laughter, having to support himself upright on the side of a pew.

“You.. should… see… the.. look... on… your… face.” he managed to gasp out in wheezing pants as he laughed. 

Unamused, Aziraphale’s shock turned to annoyance as he planted his hands on his hips and glared at the demon. “Anthony J. Crowley. You explain yourself right this instant or my right hand to God I _will_ smite you!” 

Crowley opened his mouth to try to speak but failed, his hands waving helplessly in the air as he laughed even harder. Aziraphale looked at him in irritation, then realizing they were causing a scene with several people having turned their head to stare, he threw his hands up in exasperation and left the hysterically laughing demon to his own devices, stalking away to find a seat near the front. After a few minutes Crowley slid in next to him, more composed but still chortling and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. He chuckled at Aziraphale’s glare, bringing himself under control with visible effort.

“Thanks for not smiting me. Satan, that was bloody fantastic. Haven’t laughed that hard in decades.” He slouched down in the pew with a satisfied grin.

“If you’re _quite_ done having a jolly good time at my expense can we leave?”

Far too pleased with himself to look repentant, Crowley said “That’s not what I brought you here for, it was just an unexpected bonus. To be fair, I probably looked just as funny when I came here for the first time, stretching the tip of my foot out to the floor with my eyes squeezed shut. The door attendant looked at me like I was a bloody lunatic.” He broadly gestured around them. “Look around you. What don’t you see?”

Aziraphale frowned but complied. In his annoyance at Crowley he hadn’t noticed that the traditional pulpit was missing, along with any crosses or other statuesque representations of holiness. In place of where the pulpit would normally be there were several rows of empty folding chairs. He looked back at Crowley, one eyebrow raised in query. 

“This place was a church when it was first built but has been deconsecrated for at least the past fifty years. It seems to be mostly used for art performances nowadays.”

Aziraphale had never put much thought into what would happen to a church no longer used for holy purposes, let alone what that could mean for a demon. He closed his eyes, concentrating. “But I can feel a little lingering divinity. It’s faint, but there.”

Crowley leaned back on the pew, his long arms spread along the top. “Yeah, but that feels more like an itchy hum under the skin to me. I can feel it, but it’s not painful. It’s kind of how I used to feel when I was around you.” He cast a sideways glance at Aziraphale. “I either got used to how you feel or something else changed, I dunno.”

As Aziraphale absorbed what that could mean he was distracted by men and women coming down the aisle, wearing white shirts paired with black bottoms, each carrying a variety of musical instruments. They settled into the empty chairs at the front and the murmur of the audience quieted. The lights dimmed and there lingering pause, then a man in a tuxedo strode confidently down the aisle, his dark hair streaked with gray at the temples swept back from his brow, eyes fixed forward. He took his place in front of the musicians who positioned their instruments expectantly. Raising his baton he paused, emanating an aura of command in his controlled poise. Then with a flick of his wrist the music crashed into the air, the sound amplified by the bounce off of high stone walls. 

The music was far more vigorous than Aziraphale had ever heard performed in a church, which made it feel all the more exhilarating. He found himself smiling delightedly during the performance and when Crowley’s arm across the back of the pew dropped lower to rest across his shoulders he leaned into the demon, his earlier vexation at Crowley not forgotten but at least shelved for later. He was serenely confident that he would come up with something in retribution as some point. He still felt a bit stunned that he was sitting in a church— could it still be called a church?— _with Crowley_ , something he had never dreamed was possible. Even if it was no longer used for services there was still something indefinably soothing about being in a familiar structure with the faint brightness of divinity seeping through. The vibrant music filling the small space elevated the experience into something almost otherworldly as it felt as if the entire world narrowed down to one stone building in London.

At the end of the first piece, the audience started enthusiastically applauding, Aziraphale along with them, but the conductor spun on his heel, looking out at the audience sternly and making a sharp negative sweeping gesture with his hand. The applause died out uncertainty, the conductor unmoving with his glare fixed in place until the last clapping hand stopped. He then lifted his chin and turned back to the small orchestra and began the next piece. Aziraphale settled back against the pew, a bit discomforted, really, the conductor seemed quite rude, but he had to admit the man really knew how to pull the notes from the musicians in front of him as their eyes followed every precise movement of his arms and hands. At the end of the next piece Aziraphale slid his hands under his thighs to keep himself from clapping, which caused Crowley to laugh silently at him but he felt justified when a few less restrained people in the audience started clapping and were met with the same steely eyed stare as before. 

When the concert ended the musicians stood and the conductor turned to face the audience expectantly. There was a pause, no one wanting to be the first to start clapping and be chastised for it, then finally a couple of brave souls tentatively clapped, and when the conductor remained motionless a few more joined in, until the stone walls rang with the sound of approval. Aziraphale clapped enthusiastically along with the rest, while Crowley remained sprawled alongside him. 

As the applause died out and people started to stand up to leave Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “You didn’t like it?”

“Oh, I liked it. The conductor was a bit of a bastard, turns out I’m rather partial to that.” he said with a smirk. “Just don’t feel the need to flap my hands together like a lunatic to express myself.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, I thought it was lovely.” He smiled and said warmly, “It was perfect, actually. I’m so touched you arranged this for me, you dear, sweet, thoughtful boy.”

Crowley’s breath stuttered and he blinked hard. Aziraphale watched in rapt fascination as a blush crept up his neck.

Avoiding Aziraphale's steady gaze, Crowley shook himself and stood, stretching to reveal a stripe of skin low on his abdomen as his shirt and vest rode up before slumping back into his customary boneless slouch. Aziraphale pushed away thoughts of trailing his lips along that briefly exposed strip of flesh and took the hand held out to him. He met Crowley’s eyes behind his sunglasses looking at him appraisingly as if he knew what he had been thinking. A sudden vision flashed through his mind of bending Crowley over the church pew and— oh good Lord, where did _that_ come from? To be fair, he knew exactly where it came from, his libido whining pathetically at him about how very terribly neglected it has been. He felt his cheeks turn pink, rather mortified of thinking those kinds of thoughts in a sort-of church and banished the vision with some effort as he stood and let himself be pulled out to outside. 

They walked back to the Bentley in patches of dark alternating with circles of yellow illumination from the street lights. The violinist was gone, pedestrian traffic thinned to the occasionally late night wanderer. They walked silently along the river, the moonlight picking up the gleam of water. Crowley seemed disinclined to speak and Aziraphale had an odd cacophony of emotions fluttering within his breast. Crowley took him to a _church_. Well, maybe not used as one any longer, but it still was still a church, deep in the roots of the beliefs infused into the very stones it was built with by hand. The only other time Aziraphale had seen him in a church was at the Blitz, where Crowley had saved his corporation, and had even gone through the extra effort of saving his books. At the time the demon had brushed off his questions as to why— _oh, I was just in the area angel, had nothing better to do, you know how it is when I get bored…_

Aziraphale had accepted his explanation at the time but thinking about it again now he wondered how he could have been so stupidly blind. All this time— he stopped abruptly, Crowley stopping with him to look at him, raising his eyebrows a little in question, which flew the rest of the way up with Aziraphale grabbed ahold of the lapels of his coat and slammed them together, kissing Crowley ferociously. Crowley recovered quickly enough and returned the kiss with interest, arms wrapping tightly around the angel. 

After an indeterminate amount of time passed Aziraphale pulled back, breathless. 

Rather winded himself, Crowley grinned and said “What brought that on? M’not complaining, just want to know so that I know what to do in the future to make you do that again.”

Aziraphale blushed. “I just— well, erm. Let’s just say that I very much appreciate the things you do for me. A dance in twilight along the river, an orchestra in a church, a mysterious getaway— you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, aren’t you my dear?”

Crowley shook his head emphatically. “Nah, nope, nein, just demonic seduction wiles, that’s all.”

“Oh I see. So everything tonight is simply a ploy to seduce me?” Aziraphale asked, giving Crowley back one of the smirks he was so fond of. 

“Ah, no, ‘course not—” Crowley backpedaled. “I didn’t mean— it’s not that— ngk.” 

“Mmmm.” Aziraphale eyed the demon consideringly. "A pity.”

Crowley gaped after Aziraphale as he turned on his heel and started walking back towards the car. Did Aziraphale want him to try to seduce him? But Crowley didn't want to pressure the angel into anything he wasn’t ready for, he could wait, for the rest of eternity if needed, although he very much hoped it wouldn’t take that long. 

His brain finally kickstarted his legs to start moving again and he caught up to Aziraphale. He was trying to think of what he could say in response to that when the angel cast him a sidelong glance and said, “This all was rather sweet of you my dear, really shows how kind you are.”

A jolt went through Crowley as he cringed. “Eehh, s’not true. We’re in public, for Christ’s sake, anybody could hear you, you rotten bastard.” Old habits made him look around for evidence of witnesses from Hell hearing, ugh, _nice_ things being said about him, not to mention his suave image being torn to shreds. He muttered “See if I try to do something nice for you again if this is how I get repaid.”

“Ah ha!” Aziraphale said, pointing triumphantly at him. “So you admit it! You are terribly nice my dear, I can see right through you to that dear, kind heart you try so desperately to hide my darling boy.”

The jolt turned into a full on lightning bolt, bouncing electric shocks that sizzled down his limbs. “ _Angel._ ” Crowley whined, uncomfortably aware he failed to keep a desperate note out of his voice. 

Aziraphale slid his hand into Crowley’s and continued praising him to his discomfiture, saying warmly, “I really am touched that you are going through all of this effort for me. You’ve done so wonderfully to arrange for such a lovely night. I’m so very pleased.”

Crowley’s heart squeezed as if caught in a vice, a strange sort of pressure causing him to swallow hard, ducking his head as if bent under the weight of it. A creeping yearning slid under his skin, a trickling need that rose sharply to feel Aziraphale fully on top of him, his weight pressing him firmly into a mattress, whispering those sweet poison apple words into his ear. But they were in the middle of the sidewalk for Satan’s sake, hardly the place for that. His restless fingers twitched in Aziraphale’s grasp. 

He was still fighting the odd sensations warring within his chest as they approached the rear of the Bentley. Aziraphale glanced around at the dark deserted street then caught Crowley’s arm and pushed him against the boot of the car with deliberate movements, stepping close. Crowley looked at him quizzically as the angel pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. Aziraphale slowly leaned his head forward to whisper measured words in the demon’s ear, his breath gusting across the skin and raising the small hairs on the back of his neck. “Your tender heart can be our secret my dear. You’re so good to me, so sweet.” 

_Oh blessed fuck_. Aziraphale’s voice dripping more of those honeyed words to him shot straight to his groin, wrenching a tremor down his body. He wasn’t any of those things the angel was whispering to him, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to hear more, to hear how good he was to splash against the seething spiky darkness of his innermost self,

As if hearing his unvoiced need, Aziraphale pressed closer, his arm sliding around Crowley’s waist under his coat to hold him tightly. His voice became a husky murmur as he said, “I love how considerate you are to me, how kind. I’m so very fortunate to have such a thoughtful, gorgeous lover. You are so very precious to me.”

 _Yes, more, yes, want, me, you, yes, yes yes_ … he babbled internally, barely aware he was making a whimpering sound deep in his throat as his legs trembled with the effort of holding him upright, wanting nothing more than to curl up into Aziraphale’s solid weight to be anchored against rising tide of emotion threatening to pull him under. He hands scrambled to find something to hold onto the car behind him to keep him from sliding to the pavement in an undignified heap. Aziraphale slid a hand to the back of Crowley’s neck, his thumb slowly stroking the side of his throat. “Put your arms around me, I have you…” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into him, his hands clutching at Aziraphale’s coat like a lifeline. “That’s my darling boy, well done.” The simple praise settled like a weighted blanket across his shoulders, helping to dim the babbling cacophony of need clamoring within him.

“You are such a gorgeous creature, it’s as if you were perfectly made for me to hold in my arms, and such a sweet dear to me.” Oh communion wafers dipped in holy water it was too much— he was certain he was going to discorporate any second from the heavy pull of Aziraphale’s voice dripping with love. He groaned and gave up the effort of holding himself upright, slumping forward, and burrowing his head into Aziraphale’s neck as the angel easily held him upright. _Strong, safe, want, angel, need, need, need..._

“Do you like this, my love, me telling you how good you are for me?” came the low voice against his ear. Crowley shivered again, tremors lingering in his lean frame. He was asked a question, he should try to obey, to respond, but as he opened his mouth no sound came out. He briefly tried, but forming words seemed to be beyond his ability so he gave up, nestling deeper into the angel’s firm embrace. 

“Oh, my darling boy.” Aziraphale crooned as he petted Crowley’s hair. “You’ve made me feel very special tonight. I’m going to take such good care of you.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s head. “I will cherish you forever.” 

He felt Aziraphale slide his hand between them, feeling Crowley hard in his trousers. 

“Will you let me take care of you, my darling? My sweet Crowley, my dearest love.”

Crowley groaned, pushing into his hand. For a long moment he dimly wondered if maybe Aziraphale would drop to his knees and take him into his mouth despite the risk of somebody seeing or maybe even better take Crowley into his fist so he could still whisper those devastating words into his ear. He was beyond any ability to deny the angel to do whatever he wanted with him, but he felt Aziraphale hesitate, his hand a welcome pressure against his aching erection, then he heaved a deep sigh of regret, moving his hand away to caress his back soothingly. 

Aziraphale pressed another kiss to him and said softly, “I give you my promise that I will take care of you in all ways, my dearest, but we need to wait for a more private time so that I can take care of you properly. When you’re ready, we’ll get into the car. But no rush, I’m here for you as long as you need.”

Crowley inhaled deeply, exhaling a long trembling sigh. Aziraphale continued holding him, stroking his hair, until Crowley became more aware of the cool night air against his skin, the distant sound of occasional traffic, the car against the back of his legs. He stood more upright with some effort and blinked at Aziraphale slowly with heavy lids. He felt as if he was dragging himself to wakefulness from something that wasn’t sleep as he knew it, it was something deeper, almost unbearably intimate that he had never experienced before. He had no idea what to make of it but a visceral part of him yearned to experience it again with an intensity that confused him. He took another deep breath and rubbed his eyes. 

“I don’t— that was— I don’t know what that was.” he said, stumbling over his words.

Aziraphale regarded him closely with an almost unbearably tender look to his eyes that also hinted at a deep hunger, as if he wanted to claim Crowley right then and there. “Shhh, my darling, it’s all right. Don’t think about it too much now. We can talk about it later.” he said soothingly. 

Crowley nodded. Putting off thinking about whatever the Hell had just happened sounded like a smashing idea. He rubbed his face, stepping away. They got into the Bentley and Crowley sat for a few moments, his mind still lifting from the oddly soothing fog as he memorized the shape of the steering wheel. 

“Perhaps you’d prefer that I drive?” Aziraphale asked lightly. 

That roused Crowley enough to shoot the angel a glare. “Penguins will happily waddle in Hell before that happens.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, a hint of mischievousness at the edges of his mouth. “Ah. Well then, whenever you’re ready.”

The fog lifted further with their idle banter, mostly disappearing, despite still feeling smoking hooks of it tugging deep within him. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and hesitated. The comment about what Crowley was doing being a ploy to seduce Aziraphale was bothering him, even though he knew the angel was teasing. That’s not what he was trying to do and he felt like he should make an effort to make that clear.

“Erm. Uh, angel. These past few weeks… I’ve never been so… ah, I’ve liked it, um, more than that actually, I just want to let you know how much I— erm…” he trailed off, uncomfortably looking down at his hands pressing into his lap. Shit, he was rubbish at this. 

Aziraphale’s hand moved into his line of sight to settle on top of one of Crowley’s tense hands. “I think I understand my dear.” he said gently. “Our recent time together has made me happier than I ever believed possible and I love you more than ever. You don’t have to prove anything to me my darling.”

Crowley managed to look over to him at that and said, “Yeah, well, still got some stuff planned, so you’ll have to just put up with it, so… yeah.”

Aziraphale chuckled, giving his hand a squeeze. “Sounds delightful my dear. Shall we?”

Crowley gave him a one sided smile, then started the car, pulling out onto the street, the Bentley helpfully playing Queen’s _I Was Born To Love You over the stereo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The scene with the orchestra in a small church with the exacting conductor actually happened to me when I was in Venice once and I'm tickled to write it into a story. :)_
> 
> _This chapter initially didn’t have the praise kink scene at the end but I moved the original ending to a future chapter and was wrestling with an internal debate as to if the chapter wasn’t interesting enough as it was. I’ve been interested in exploring praise kink as a concept in a story and it certainly fits with Crowley’s character although I wonder if it seems a bit out of the blue. I may go back to earlier chapters and add some foreshadowing to tie it in a bit better. I initially wrote the scene from Aziraphale’s point of view, but then re-wrote it from Crowley’s, which I think comes across more intensely. That’s always another debate, figuring out which character’s internal dialogue speaks to the reader better at which time. Anyway, enough of my musings, hope you enjoyed it._


	14. Words and Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello again my lovelies. Thanks for sticking with me with me thus far, I adore you as always, thank you so much for your support and comments, I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!. We’re on the home stretch of working out the final kinks (double meaning intended) between these two boyos. It’s likely this will wrap up at chapter 16._

They drove in silence that had a tinge of heaviness to it, a hovering of words not yet expressed stretching between them. But as they were stumbling into an increasing sense of comfort and confidence with the changes in their relationship the silence was not uncomfortable, and for a long while they were disinclined to speak, each lost in their own thoughts.

The humm of what had happened when they got back to the car still thrummed like a low voltage wire in Aziraphale’s body, the new discovery of something that Crowley perhaps needed that he could give pulling at him, drawing out a strong possessiveness deep within that uncurled like a hungry cat.

The way that Crowley had responded when he had idly complimented him at the church had not escaped his notice and he had turned that reaction over in his mind during the walk back to the car, picking apart the layers of it. He couldn’t resist testing the waters of that fascinating discovery and _oh sweet Heaven_ , what had happened as a result of that testing was nothing short of glorious. The way the demon had moaned, twitched, shivered, then melted in his arms— Aziraphale didn’t think he had ever experience anything so deeply, deliciously satisfying that reached down into his very core that was even now roaring at him to explore it more, to take them both further down that path. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to stop, but he knew that with things currently unbalanced between them if he pushed it further he would have taken advantage of the state he had unexpectedly worked the demon into.

He’d seen that reaction before, he realized with a jolt. That time in the shower, the ferociousness with which Crowley kissed him had happened after Aziraphale had impulsively told him how gorgeous he was. Considering how strongly he reacted back at the car, it was highly likely there were many other times Aziraphale had missed the visceral reaction Crowley had to being praised.

He couldn’t imagine that Hell ever gave out praise, and certainly any hint of kindness or love would have been severely punished. He couldn’t fathom how terrible it must have been for the demon he had come to know and love that was afflicted with compassion to have Fallen from grace and then sent to Hell. His heart soared in a fiercely protective wave, feeling awe that this tender resilient being had managed to find the strength and courage to place his trust in him.

Which reminded him about an earlier conversation they had about trust. Aziraphale turned to Crowley expectantly. “Oh, right! You were going to tell me all about a safe word for fellacio.”

Unlike Aziraphale, to Crowley the very idea of spending any amount of time thinking deep thoughts about how he had felt back at the car or indeed, how he was feeling about their relationship in general— except for the whispering chanting refrain of _more, angel, more, more, me, more_ — was akin to his desire to spend his Sunday afternoons knitting with a bunch of gossiping housewives cooing over which of their daughters they would set him up with.

He was idly pondering what furniture to add to his flat as it had occurred to him that if Aziraphale wanted to come over at some point he didn’t currently own anything other than his bed— _angel, me, bed, more, more, more_ — that was suited to sit two man shaped beings together. He was also amusing himself by steering with only one pinky and Aziraphale’s query had the unfortunate timing to come while he was turning around a curve in the road at his usual careless disregard for the speed limit. His hand jerked and fell off of the steering wheel, necessitating a frantic grab for the wheel before it careened off of the road. After the screeching of tires settled he barked out “Jumping Jesus on a goddamned pogo stick! Maybe wave a warning flag first next time?” He shook his head disbelievingly and muttered, “Add this one to the long list of things I never thought I’d have a discussion with you about.”

Aziraphale merely raised an eyebrow at his theatrics.

After shooting a glare at the unperturbed angel Crowley said, “It’s a word you can say during any kind of sexual situation, not just blowjobs, when you need things to stop, for whatever reason.”

Aziraphale considered that. “Why not just use the word ‘stop’? Seems rather unnecessary to come up with a word that means the same thing.”

“Well…” Crowley drawled. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, thinking. “Close your eyes.”

Aziraphale looked at him, his eyebrows raised in inquiry, but Crowley just waited with supreme confidence that Aziraphale would eventually comply, so with a little huff of annoyance the angel slid his eyes closed.

“Now imagine you’re sitting down, fully clothed, but I’m naked and draped face down across your lap. Hmm, maybe my hands are tied behind me, maybe I’m blindfolded.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, the image in his mind’s eye stirring deep tendrils of desire skimming the surface of his skin.

Crowley’s voice dropped to a low silky rumble. “Now imagine that you’re smacking my ass, hard enough to leave a red mark. I’m writhing underneath your hand, pushing my hard cock onto your lap. You keep smacking me, faster, harder, as I grind myself against you.”

Aziraphale felt his cock perk up with a sudden great deal of interest in the proceedings as if hopeful to have a say in the matter of what would happen next. His fingers twitched with the desire to grab onto the tight buttocks he was picturing writhing on his lap as he waited with tense anticipation to hear what would happen next but there was a long silence. He squirmed restlessly, just about to give into the pull to peek through his eyelashes when Crowley spoke again.

“Now imagine… that I’m begging you to stop because I want so desperately for you to fuck me. Or that I’m begging you to stop because I’m so fucking turned on I can hardly stand it, but you know how to push me to my limits and push me over the edge… think about how hearing me beg, but knowing that I don’t actually want you to stop, would make you feel.”

Those tendrils of desire were now fully formed coiling tentacles, squeezing so tightly around him they seemed to pump what blood was remaining in his brain straight down to his cock that was fully erect now, quite pleased with the idea of making the demon’s words reality. He shifted in the seat, surreptitiously pulling down on his trousers to try to give his cock little less confinement as he forced his eyes open to banish the tantalizing images dancing in his mind. He looked sideways at Crowley, his eyes lingering on the planes of his cheekbones, to see a small satisfied smile at the edge of his lips. That deplorable serpent knew exactly what he was doing, the miscreant.

“So, I ah, see.” he said after a few beats of charged silence. “Yes, a different word may be called for.”, forcing out what he hoped was a successful attempt at casual calm.

Did that sojourn into fantasy mean that Crowley would enjoy being treated like that? Or was he just spinning a story he thought would be something Aziraphale would like? _Maybe instead of tying him up I would hold his wrists against his back with my hand. I wonder if he would like being told how good he was while I smacked his firm, rounded—_ he pulled his thoughts away from that line of direction with some difficulty. Not only did he feel somewhat disquieted about these thoughts being so violently arousing— he was an angel for Heaven’s sake— the timing was terribly inconvenient, as they were on the road in the middle of nowhere.

He had a mad impulse to demand that Crowley pull over, wondering what the demon would think of the idea of taking him in the back seat of the Bentley. _Probably not_ , he thought regretfully. Crowley was so fiercely protective of his car, it’s likely he would consider it as sacrilegious as a priest would think of blowing his nose on his vestment.

He looked out the window desperately trying to distract himself. “Erm. Uh, so what should it be? Shakespeare? No, what if I want to quote sonnets during intimacy— sushi? Food words might not be a good choice, I can just see getting peckish and whoops, there slips out the word… you like plants, what about a plant word?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I really don’t care what word it is, as long as it’s not too ridiculous. Some people go with stop light colors, green is good, yellow is caution, red is stop.”

“Hmm, that idea certainly has merit, but not much flair, don’t you think? How about balderdash? No, that’s sure to come up with that mouth of yours constantly running off... hmm… hornswoggle, pettifogger, gallimaufry, farrago… Ooo, I know— Jabberwocky! I can’t imagine saying that by accident and it has a certain amount of panache, don’t you think?”

Crowley groaned. “What did I say about not being too ridiculous?”

“Jabberwocky.” Aziraphale pronounced with some satisfaction. “I quite like it my dear, I think it’s here to stay. Until I change my mind, that is.”

Crowley gave up, resigned. “All right, whatever, fine. Ugh.”

Pleased, Aziraphale let the subject drop and watched what little scenery he could see passing in the dark, humming contentedly. He found he was enjoying the suspense of not knowing where he was going. It was a new experience for him, being on a— date? Was this a date? He turned the word over in his mind. It rather seemed like maybe they had already been dating, of a sorts, for quite some time now but now, especially tonight, there was a feeling to it that was new, a feeling of something _romantic_. A happy little hum ran through him. Despite his vehement protestations to the contrary, he rather suspected that the wiley old serpent was romancing him. If so, he had to admit he quite liked it.

After a couple of hours of driving Crowley turned down a long driveway and up to a cottage with the porch lights on, illuminating a small cheery white house covered in creeping vines. When Aziraphale stepped out of the car he could hear the sound of the ocean nearby and smell the briny tang of the sea in the air.

As he retrieved their luggage from the boot of the car Crowley consulted a scrap of paper he had pulled from his back pocket and squatted down to turn the sequence of a combination padlock attached to a rusty red toolbox chained around the porch post. Once opened, he pulled out a key and opened the door, turning on the lamp by the entrance as they stepped in.

The small central room had a long plush couch facing a large window that presumably looked out over the ocean but it was too dark in the cloud covered night to see much. A simple stone framed fireplaces with logs and kindling stacked in place held the future promise of crackling warmth, but what immediately caught Aziraphale’s eyes was the cacophony of roses bursting from vases scattered around the room that pulsed the room with color, even in the dim light. Aziraphale stepped over to the nearest one to run two fingers along the crimson edge of silken petals that faded to a brilliant yellow in the center.

“Oh, my dear.” he breathed. “These are gorgeous. And such an untraditional color.”

Crowley surveyed the flowers with satisfaction. “Yeah, they’re called circus roses. You mentioned that you liked them, so…” he flapped his hand vaguely at the living room.

Aziraphale looked at him, a bit puzzled. “I did? I’ve always been partial to the yellow and red variegated ones but I don’t recall telling you that.”

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, remember when we met up at that rose garden in Paris that one time? After our meeting I may have hung out behind a hedge and overheard you talking to the gardener about them. You seemed very enthusiastic.”

Aziraphale regarded Crowley as the demon shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “That was… over two hundred years ago I think.” he said slowly. “My dear boy. You remembered that after all this time?”

Crowley shrugged and ducked his head, turning away to take his coat off and hang it on the coat rack. “No big deal angel. It just stuck with me for some reason. I remember the dumbest things sometimes, like how to roast crickets but then can’t remember who the current Prime Minister is. You know how it is.”

Aziraphale said slowly, “I think I’m beginning to…” He took his coat off and hung it up, then stepped further into the room to admire the rest of the roses. He bent down to inhale the sweet fragrance, and looked down at it as he said, “Do you remember that one time I told you that you move too fast for me?”

Crowley looked sideways at him. “Yeah, of course.”

Aziraphale kept his eyes on the roses as he said quietly. “Perhaps it wasn’t you who moved too fast; it’s I that moved unbearably slow.”

He felt a pang as he grimaced and said. “Well, until I moved too fast and buggered everything up.”

“Aziraphale.”

He reluctantly looked up at Crowley, who had closed the distance to him in the small room. “You’re not moving too fast for me now. In fact, “ he said with a cheeky grin, “you can give a go at moving faster if you’d like, preferably on top of me.”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh despite himself. “Oh my dear boy.” He looked around at the quaint cottage and roses. “This is so lovely. Our first real holiday together, I can’t believe how thoughtful you are to have arranged for all this, I really am touched.” he said warmly, looking earnestly into golden eyes, that widened at him.

He hadn’t thought much about his words before he said them but now that he had a heightened awareness to notice that somewhat guarded expression flicking across Crowley’s face, a subtle increased alertness evident in the widening of his snake slit pupils and slight tensing of body as if preparing to flee.

_Too soon_ he thought. He reached up to cup Crowley’s cheek tenderly. “It’s been a long day. Are you tired my dearest? I could let you sleep, if you’d like. That couch looks like a positively comfortable place where I could settle in for a good read.” And really, he mused, he himself was torn between the desire to peel Crowley out of his clothes slowly as if pulling down the petals of a flower and to let himself take a break from the charged emotional swings of the day.

Crowley’s eyes flicked past him to the couch. “I suppose I could use a lie down.” He stepped back and turned to pick up his bag, heading towards the only bedroom. He hesitated in the doorway, his head tilted back. “Do you, ah, want to put your things away in here first?”

Aziraphale looked up from where he had started pursuing the contents of the narrow bookshelf. “Oh, no worries my dear, I can do that tomorrow.”

Crowley made no move to enter the bedroom, raising his eyes to studiously examine the ceiling. “It’s really no bother if you do it tonight.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say again that he’ll do it tomorrow and then snapped it shut as he took in Crowley’s posture and replayed the pointed words back in his mind. _Oh._ He picked up his bag and walked over to the bedroom. Stepping in to turn on the light, he was greeted by the sight of a small bedroom mostly filled with the large inviting bed covered by a plush floral comforter flanked by two short white dressers, more red tipped golden roses set on the tops in rounded glass vases. He busied himself with putting his clothes away in one of the dressers, stacking his books on top. The menial tasks completed, he straightened up and turned to see Crowley still leaning in the doorway, watching him, his travel bag at his feet.

Well. Here they were, in the same room once again with a large bed that seemed to shout out all of the possibilities it offered. He was having trouble reading what Crowley was leading them towards and was feeling fretful about making the wrong move. He stepped back to stand in front him, sliding his hand around his waist. “My dear boy.” he said softly. “Is it that difficult for you to ask for things that you want from me? Things that you need?”

Crowley ducked his head, making some kind of wordless noise deep in his throat.

Aziraphale eyed him consideringly. “Hmm. Perhaps some practice is in order.” He set his hand to rubbing soothing circles on Crowley’s low back. “Tell me, my dear, Would you like me to keep you company while you sleep?” His hand moved a little lower. “Perhaps you would like to try something more, ah, _intimate_? Tell me what you would like, my darling.” he purred.

Crowley shivered minutely, leaning into him, then silently leaned down to pull a paperback book out of his bag. He straightened up and held it out to Aziraphale, who took it to read the cover.

“Lando Calrissian and the Mindharp of Sharu.” he read. “Ah, yes, that fellow who was a friend of Han Solo in those Star Wars books.” He looked up. “Is this for me or— would you like me to read it to you?”

Crowley shrugged, the very picture of indifference. “Maybe if you want to. S’not a big deal if you’d rather read something else.”

Aziraphale cocked his head at the vague answer. Crowley knew that reading science fiction was not his normally preferred genre, so that likely meant…

“Well, that bed certainly looks even more comfortable than the couch, perhaps we could settle into it and I could read out loud if you’re interested.”

As soon as the words left his mouth Crowley snapped his fingers and he abruptly found himself wearing his familiar blue flannel pajamas. He stifled a chuckle at seeing Crowley already moving to the bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in, clad in a black silk pajamas set. The demon scooted over and looked at him expectantly.

He started to take a step forward, then his breath caught as his mind fully registered the sight before him. Crowley waiting for him to _read_ to him, in a bed they would be sharing together. He could almost already feel that slender frame wrapped around him like the snake he was. The intimate domesticity of it struck him powerfully. _Our side._ Had he ever really had someone on his side before, especially the way the golden eyed demon was and had been for far, far longer than he had fully realized?

“Angel?” Crowley asked questioningly as he stood staring at him, caught in the moment.

He came out of his reverie and gave the demon a warm smile, climbing in next to him and holding his arm out invitingly. As he anticipated, Crowley slid over, practically on him, as he wrapped his arm and leg over him, head pillowed on his chest. His chest expanded with warmth as he fondly held Crowley to him.

“Crowley?” he asked, his fingers finding their way into ginger strands.

“Mmm?”

“I was wondering… how much does it hurt you to be in a real church?”

Crowley slid his hand over to the buttons on Aziraphale’s pajama top, fingering the round shapes. “It’s like being burned. Nothing I can’t handle, for a little while, anyway. Why?”

Dissatisfied with the vagueness of the answer he asked, “Burned? How bad is it?”

Crowley shifted restlessly. “Bad enough. Takes a while to recover.”

_Recover? But he seemed fine after the church was turned into rubble by the bomb… was he just pretending?_ “My dear— does it literally burn you? Your skin?”

Crowley shrugged, which seemed to be the closest he was going to come to an affirmation.

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “That time at the church in the Blitz. You deliberately allowed yourself to be hurt to rescue me from the terribly foolish predicament I found myself in. You didn’t just ‘happen’ to be in the area, did you?”

Another shrug, sliding down further to turn his face into Aziraphale’s soft belly.

“Oh my dear boy.” he said softly. He felt as if he was leaning over the edge of a precipice, about to tip over but unsure of what he would find at the landing. He said slowly and hesitatingly, “Those countless times… the guillotine, the Blitz, the roses… how long have you… had _feelings_ for me?”

Crowley mumbled indistinctly against his chest.

_“Crowley.” _Aziraphale tugged on him to pull him more upright, looking earnestly into golden snake slit eyes that automatically slid away, then looked back at him with an effort.__

__The demon pressed his lips together, struggling, then managed to push out, “Realized it when we were on the ark.”  
_ _

Aziraphale gasped, shocked. “ _That long?”_

__Apparently that small confession had reached the limits of what Crowley could handle, because he dropped back down to lay back down across Aziraphale’s chest, burrowing into the blankets, arms tightly encircling him.  
_ _

__Stunned, Aziraphale blurted out “Then why— when I kissed you that first time— and then later— why didn’t you—?”  
_ _

__Crowley sighed, the breath pushing out in warm puff through the pajamas into his skin. Aziraphale could barely hear him as he said quietly, “I thought that you only wanted me for sex… that was harder to handle than believing it wasn’t possible for you to feel about me the way I wanted you to.”  
_ _

__Familiar guilt and grief crashed through him. “I’m so sorr—”  
_ _

__That spurred Crowley to push himself up on his hands to glower at Aziraphale. “Hey, that’s enough of that. The whole point of this is to move past all of that, yeah? You’re going to get all wound up in your head again if you keep that up.”  
_ _

__Aziraphale stared back at him, then gave a deep exhale and nodded. After holding his gaze a minute longer, Crowley seemed satisfied and nestled back down on him.  
_ _

__“Now, if you’re done forcing me to talk about my feelings as if we were in a bloody sewing circle,” he growled, “You promised to read to me. I’m hoping that Lando might turn out to be even more of a scoundrel than Han.”  
_ _

__Recognizing that they could both probably use a break from the roller coaster of emotions the day had brought, he raised the book and let their minds wander to a galaxy far, far away._ _

___ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I did go back and do a bit of editing in a few chapters to have the story flow better to this point. A bit of tweaking of the shower scene in Chapter 3, expanding on Aziraphale's own release when he took a shower, that sort of thing, nothing major._


	15. Of Drizzles and Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And of course we needed to have a bit of food porn my dear readers. Aziraphale’s in the story after all._
> 
> _Sooo, this chapter is mostly spicy bits. Hope you enjoy it, thank you as always for your wonderful, delightful kudos and comments._

After he realized Crowley had fallen asleep, he wiggled up to a more comfortable sitting position, Crowley making sleepy displeased noises but settling quickly enough pillowing on his lap. Aziraphale tucked the blankets around the demon and traded the Star Wars book for Steinbeck, contentedly reading while drifting his fingers through ginger hair.

In the morning he heard a tapping at the front door. He gently slid out from underneath Crowley who grumbled but turned on his side, curling around a pillow. After donning a white terrycloth robe that miraculously appeared, he caught his reflection in the mirror attached to the bedroom door on the way out. The top few buttons on his pajamas were undone, parting to display curling pale blonde chest hairs. He frowned, feeling acutely underdressed, so the nightshirt obediently buttoned all the way up, with a pale blue bowtie appearing around the collar. He hesitated, realizing the likelihood of the bowtie with pajamas being a smidge over the top, but the knock came again so he went to the front door while tying his sash.  


He opened the door to see a petite woman who appeared to be in her sixties standing behind a rolling cart laden with covered platters. She had short sandy blonde hair and well established laugh lines etched around her eyes and mouth that crinkled as she smiled warmly and asked, “Are you Anthony?”  


“Ah, no, my name is Ezra.” He felt slightly apprehensive, knowing they appeared to be two men that were sharing a romantic cottage. He was sadly aware of the erratic cultural intolerances of same gender relationships and preferred to avoid unpleasantness around the issue. To his relief her expression remained unchanged as she said, “Pleased to meet you. I’m Karen, I live next door and rent out this cottage. I’ve brought breakfast for you both.”  


Delighted, Aziraphale helped her bring the cart in. He chatted with her for a time about how long she had been running a tiny bed and breakfast. He was delighted to learn she was a retired chef who enjoyed renting out the cottage to cater to couples and keep her hand in cooking for others.  


“It’s been lovely talking to you but I should get going so that you can enjoy your breakfast before it gets cold. Is Anthony still asleep?”  


“Yes, he’d probably sleep the day away if I let him, the lazy snake. But I’ll be sure to get him up to taste the wonderful food you were so kind to prepare for us. I can’t wait to see what it is.”  


Karen opened the door. “Oh, the credit for that all goes to Anthony. He was very specific as to what he wanted me to make.” She winked at his surprised expression. “Behind the cottage there’s a path that leads down to the ocean. I’ll be dropping off picnic supplies at noon.”  


Aziraphale thanked her effusively and after shutting the door walked back to the cart. Curious, he peeked underneath the gleaming silver covers on one of the platters and smiled delightedly to see blitzes. He picked up the lid to another platter to discover an assortment of bowls filled with whipped cream, dark and white chocolate sauce, raspberry sauce and berries. His hand hovered over one of the luscious looking strawberries, very tempted to dip it into the chocolate sauce for a nibble or three but he reluctantly covered it up with the lid.  


Humming happily, he went back into the bedroom and surveyed the sleeping demon, contemplating the best way to convince him to wake up. He very much wanted to wiggle under the covers and find out what it would feel like to have a certain delectable portion of the demon’s anatomy hardening with his mouth wrapped around it… but he was conflicted as the blitzes wouldn’t be as fresh tasting if they lingered in bed and he was also acutely aware of the spectacular failure that happened the last time they tried to be intimate… Crowley hadn’t seemed put off by it though, and there was that discussion they had last night… he was saved from what likely would have been a prolonged internal debate as Crowley stirred and groped his hand out. Failing to encounter an angelic body, he opened his eyes a slit to peer up with what Aziraphale considered to be a rather adorable furrow on his brow.  


“Why’dre not in bed? C’mere.” he grumbled.  


Aziraphale smiled and kneeled on the bed, letting Crowley tug him down to give him a kiss. “It would seem that someone very thoughtfully arranged for breakfast. It would be a shame to let them go cold and have such consideration go unappreciated. Care to join me?  


“Mmm. I could think of other ways you could express your consideration…” the demon said, trying to pull Aziraphale more fully into the bed.  


Aziraphale resisted. “As tempting as that is, I daresay we could laze away the day in bed after we eat breakfast.” He wiggled cheerfully. “Just think about how much more appreciative I’ll feel _after_ I’ve tasted the delightful breakfast you’ve arranged.”  


Crowley reluctantly let him go and stretched, twisting his sinuous form in ways that would do a contortionist proud. “All right, fine. Just so you know I’m getting up under great protest.” he groused.  


Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to mark my calendar to record such a momentous amount of effort on your part.”  


Later, Crowley sipped his coffee as he watched Aziraphale tuck into the blitzes with great enthusiasm, relishing the rapturous expression of delight on his face and the noises that dripped from his mouth as he ate. 

“ _Mmmm_ , that Karen is an absolutely marvelous chef.” He hovered a spoon over the assortment of sauces, obviously trying to decide which one to drizzle on the blitzs, then gave up and scooped up some of each, spooning them in neat lines over his breakfast. As he tasted the results, “Oh, my, the chocolate sauce, simply _divine_ , maybe with a touch of the raspberry sauce?— _Yes_ , maybe more than a touch, actually—”  


Crowley’s fingers tightened on the mug, a jittering tapping starting up from his heel and skittering up his leg. The movement caught Aziraphale’s eye who looked over at him. “Are you all right?”  


Crowley stilled his leg with some effort and unclenched his jaw enough to mutter, “M’fine.”  


Aziraphale raised his eyebrow in query but when Crowley wasn’t any more forthcoming said, “Really my dear, you haven’t tried a bite. Are you sure you don’t want some?”  


Crowley carefully set his cup down and seriously considered dramatically shoving all of the dishes off to smash heedlessly on the floor while he stretched out on the table and begged the angel to take him with the same near orgasmic delight he was showing his breakfast. He wasn’t sure how well that would be received though, so he slid down off of his chair onto his knees, moving around the small table and pulling the angel’s legs to the side to crawl between them. Aziraphale looked down at him, bemused.  


“Maybe a bite.” the demon said, as he slid his hands along the top of Aziraphale’s thighs.  


Aziraphale started to gather a forkful but Crowley shook his head. “With your fingers.”  


A slow smile spread across Aziraphale’s face as he set down the fork and gathered a bit of the blitz in his fingers and held it out. The demon opened his mouth obediently, leaning forward to engulf the fingers, sliding the morsel off and then curling his tongue around the digits. He felt Aziraphale shiver as he sucked them clean and he let the fingers slide out, glistening wet.  


Crowley’s eyes traveled upwards and he reached out to tug at Aziraphale’s collar.  


“A bowtie with pajamas? Really?” he said with fond exasperation as he unraveled the pale blue strip of fabric, leaving the edges dangling around his neck. He untied the sash of the robe, then his fingers danced over to unbutton the top two buttons of his pajama shirt, pausing to look up and raise one eyebrow slightly in query. Aziraphale nodded, still smiling, so Crowley resumed deftly unbuttoning the pajama top, spreading the edges open, then running his hands up the smooth expanse of skin.  


He leaned forward to rub his cheek against the angel’s chest, feeling the soft sigh underneath as he moved along the soft chest hairs. “Remember me telling you I wanted to show you all the things I fantasized about you?” he murmured as he reached over to swipe his finger into the pile of whipped cream. He ran his finger down the pale torso before him, smearing the whipped cream in a long white line, then leaned forward and licked it off in one long swipe, starting at the base of the belly and ending at the nipple, flicking it into a taut peak with his tongue before kneeling back upright.  


Aziraphale shuddered underneath him. “Oh my. I take it this is one of your fantasies?” he asked breathlessly.  


Crowley shook his head. “Nope.” he drawled out, popping the p sound. “I, uh—” He stumbled over his tongue, and looked down, suddenly feeling awkward.  


Aziraphale took in his expression, frowning. “Then what…” he trailed off, his expression smoothing out. He reached out to cup his hand along Crowley’s jaw tenderly, who leaned into it. “Is your fantasy of me doing that to you?” he asked softly.  


Crowley nodded against Aziraphale’s palm.  


_“Oh.”_ Aziraphale licked his lips, looking down at Crowley. He reached out to run his thumb along the side of Crowley’s mouth, rubbing off a smear of whipped cream. The demon’s eyes followed him as he brought it to his mouth, slowly licking it off. Crowley tightened his hands on Aziraphale’s thighs at the sight of that pink tongue languidly licking the lingering sweetness off while steadily regarding him with eyes darkening with desire. He leaned up to try to kiss Aziraphale but the angel held him back with a firm palm flat to his chest, an edge of sternness creeping into his intense gaze that sent a shiver of anticipation up Crowley’s spine.  


Crowley settled back down on his heels, waiting. Aziraphale paused a beat, regarding him, then turned to pick up a red glistening strawberry, dipping it in the chocolate sauce then holding it out. Crowley obligingly opened his mouth to take a bite, the chocolate dripping down Crowley’s chin. Aziraphale grasped Crowley's’ chin and bent down to lick it off of him, his lips wandering up to capture Crowley’s, tasting the burst of strawberry and chocolate rolling in his mouth. Still kissing, he rose to a standing position, pulling Crowley up with him, then backed him up to guide him into sitting in the chair again, Aziraphale reversing their positions to kneel between his legs.  


It was still an impossible sight to take in, Aziraphale on his knees in between his thighs and somehow despite his position radiating a sense of devastating control. He felt the closest impulse he had ever felt since he Fell to send up a thankful prayer to have this, to have Aziraphale in every way that mattered. Those manicured fingers moved up to unbutton Crowley’s nightshirt and spread it open, pausing to admire the exposed lean muscled torso with curling dark red chest hair. Looking over at his options on the table consideringly, Aziraphale picked up the bowl of dark chocolate sauce, dipping his index finger into it. He shuffled closer and began applying the chocolate to one side of Crowley’s chest, running his finger across in long sweeping strokes. He then traded the dark chocolate for the bowl of white chocolate sauce, repeating the process on the other side, and then placed dabs of raspberry sauce across the entire chest. Crowley sat quietly during the process, watching him, and when Aziraphale kneeled back to look at his work in satisfaction, the demon looked down to see the outline of wings on his chest, one side white, the other dark, highlighted in dark red along the arches. He arched his eyebrows as he looked back at Aziraphale.  


He opened his mouth to say something snarky about the cliche of the design but whatever idiotic thing was going to come out thankfully died as he took in the way Aziraphale was eyeing him, the hungry look darkening his eyes that he usually gave when regarding a particularly delectable morsel that sent a thrill snaking up his entire body. “You look positively _scrumptious_ my dear.”  


Crowley swallowed hard at the realization that this time he was the morsel Aziraphale was lusting after. Aziraphale leaned closer, his hands reaching out to glide up the dark silk over Crowley's legs, his thumbs settling into the crease at the top of his thighs, hands curling around his narrow hips and then before Crowley could blink Aziraphale’s broad tongue was on the flat plane of his abdomen, licking upwards in wide sweeps.  


Crowley’s hands spasamed into a death grip on the sides of the chair while his cock went from idle interest to a full salute of attention in record time, tenting the thin silk. And _oh merciful fuck_ there came the sounds, low throaty sounds of pleasure as Aziraphale licked up the sweet lines of chocolate. Those sounds sunk into a blaze across his skin, the impossible sensation of that mouth and tongue sliding across him chasing down in a tense gliding shiver outward to the curling of his fingers and toes.  


The more Aziraphale licked him clean, the more he got into it, moaning and shimmying with delight, his fingers digging into Crowley’s hips while Crowley shivered and trembled underneath him struggling not to outright _lose his fucking shit _and either leap on the angel like a feral beast, or come like an adolescent in his pajamas, or discorporate, or some insane combination of of all three.  
__

When Aziraphale couldn't reach the top of Crowley’s chest easily he let out an annoyed little growl and his fingers tightened on Crowley’s hips, yanking him downwards until he was half off of the chair, only kept from sliding down to the floor by being firmly pinned against Aziraphale’s torso. Crowley yelped “ _Ngk_ , ah, _fuck, angel_ —!” as Aziraphale smiled against his skin as he licked the nipples cleaner than was strictly necessary as Crowley arched underneath him.  


With that he lost the battle line he had somehow set for himself to be still under that wet mouth trailing over him— _you’re not going to spook him if you move you idiot, he’s not a goddamned horse, skittish fuckers that they are_ — and his fingers plunged his fingers into impossibly soft curls while his legs wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist, feeling as if he needed to hang on for dear life. He dimly realized he was making some kind of embarrassing whimpering noises deep in his throat. All of those years of watching the tip of a pink tongue darting out to lick up that drip of soy sauce, those blue eyes fluttering closed when inhaling the scent of some kind of flavorful spice soaked sauce, the dreamy look of satisfaction when wrapping that mouth around a forkful of tiramisu, all of it haunting him for so long and now the angel was making those noises at him, _on_ him.  


__After licking up most of the sauce Aziraphale leaned back, his face smeared with chocolate, strands of his white blonde hair sticking to his face, breathing somewhat fast and looking extremely pleased with himself.  
_ _

__Crowley looked down at him in a daze, visions of pouring the entire contents of the bowls over himself all at once dancing through his head. “You’re a mess.” he blurted out with some amount of delight.  
_ _

__“Mmm, yes, so I am.” Aziraphale said, unperturbed as his eyes twinkled up at him. He bent down to lick a lingering thin stripe off his chest. “Is it now my turn for one of my fantasies?”  
_ _

__Crowley's eyes widened as he choked out “Abso-fucking-lutely.”  
_ _

__“Well…” Aziraphale drawled, looking coyly up at Crowley through his lashes. “I confess I have not been able to stop thinking about that time we took a shower together, and how just as things were getting quite interesting you weren’t feeling well enough to continue. And, as you pointed out, I’m a mess, and you still are too, really, so....”  
_ _

“ _Oh yesss._ ” Crowley hissed, practically levitating to a standing position as he pulled Aziraphale to his feet, kissing him hard and pushing into the full length of the angel’s body as if he could press into his skin. _Right, yes, shower that way, make feet work. And legs. How do legs work?_ Aziraphale started taking steps backwards, tugging Crowley towards the bathroom. _Oh, good, angel remembers how legs work, yes. Yep, he’s so fucking smart. And sexy as Hell. Although Hell’s anything but sexy— nope, nope, nope, NOT thinking about that right now—_. Mashing his internal babbling dialogue down to mostly yelping an incomprehensible string of consonants he somehow made it across the cottage still clinging to Aziraphale like a spider monkey, their mouths moving together with increasing fervor.  


__Once in the bathroom Crowley impatiently pulled them stumbling into the shower, not pausing to undress as he slapped at the shower controls, then straightened with a yelp as the cold spray hit him. Indignant that the water would dare to do that to him he snapped his fingers to instantly heat it. Aziraphale actually _giggled_ at him and he growled, annoyed that his antics were distracting the angel from the much more important matter at hand. Pushing Aziraphale against the cool white tile he nipped at his jaw, then traced his tongue along the line of his lips, pulling back just enough to barely maintain contact as Aziraphale leaned forward to chase his mouth, then rolled his groin forward. To his immense satisfaction Aziraphale’s laughter melted into a moan as he grabbed the edges of Crowley’s pajama top to yank him closer and invade his mouth with a plundering tongue.  
_ _

__The water soaked into their pajamas, hindering the smooth slide of their hips together and with another impatient snap their pajama bottoms disappeared. He vaguely considered making their pajama shirts disappear as well but discarded the notion as Aziraphale was currently clutching his fiercely as a way to maneuver him where he wanted, which he found almost unbearably arousing.  
_ _

__Crowley widened his leg to slot them together perfectly and undulated his hips, experimenting with going forward and back, side to side, even including figure eights like a belly dancer to discover what movements might cause Aziraphale to make the same sounds he had made when licking chocolate from his chest. He didn’t get that yet, but considered it a success when the angel clutched at his shoulders, his mouth open in a trembling moan as his knee came to hook his leg around Crowley’s buttocks to pull him even closer. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed as he arched his head back, which Crowley took advantage of by licking a stripe up the exposed wet neck. He slid his arms down the back of the angel’s thigh down to fill his palms with Aziraphale’s plush arse to caress he continued undulating.  
_ _

_Saint's sun bleached bones_ , just _there_ was the right angle, the perfect drag of their cocks against each other, the warm water falling on them drizzling in rivulets down his heated flesh, steam filling the small room until the very air felt permeated with thick want and need. His arms were full, so gloriously full of the solid curves that were quivering against him. _So good, so good, want to make it so good for you, want to show you, show you, show you_...  


“Is this good for you angel? Or does your fantasy have me on my knees with my mouth on your cock?” Crowley asked breathlessly. _Whatever you want, let me, want— need_ — the last word arching upward in his mind like a keen.  


“Oh, this is _so_ good.” Aziraphale panted, grabbing at Crowley’s head to bring him up for another urgent kiss, their mouths smashing into each other messily. “I want your gorgeous body close to me my darling, just like this.” He pulled back just enough to slide a hand down between them and wrapped it around Crowley’s straining cock, giving it a few firm pulls.  


Crowley groaned into Aziraphale’s mouth, bucking into his hand, then pulled his head back, moving his hand down to join the angel’s. “Do it like this.” he said, adjusting Aziraphale’s hand so that it encircled both of their erections. Aziraphale complied, staring down as if mesmerized, then looking back up at Crowley, who dimly thought it was possible to come right then under the look of heated intense regard as if he was the only thing that mattered in existence.  


And then Aziraphale began moving his hand in firm purposeful strokes in the tight space between them. Crowley closed his eyes against the roaring of pleasure that crashed against him, burying his face into Aziraphale’s neck. He was _not_ going to orgasm, not yet, despite his hips snapping forward into Aziraphale’s fist without any sort of permission from his mind, despite the tension rising rapidly in his groin, he was _not not not not_ — but then he felt Aziraphale nip at his neck and moan into his ear “ _Oh_ you feel so good my darling, I love how hard you are for me, oh _yes_.”, and he was helplessly lost in that honeyed voice, falling, falling, but this time it was good, he was safe, he was solidly caught by his angel as he tipped over the edge, coming with a hoarse shout.  


Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s head and slowed his hand, still holding them together. Crowley looked down and batted the angel’s hand away to wrap his fingers around Aziraphale’s thick cock. He squeezed lightly, his thumb tracing a line up the underside and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes. “S’kay? I want to make you feel—“ he pleaded, an embarrassingly needy note creeping into his voice. The need to keep touching him, to give him pleasure scrabbled at the dark walls inside, sinking claws in for purchase, grabbing ahold and wrapping around him with centuries long yearning.  


Aziraphale pushed into his fist as he slid one hand around to firmly grasp the cheek of Crowley’s buttock, the other moving to hold fast to the back of his neck. “Yes Crowley, _yes_.”  


Fierce exultation shot through him as he leaned their foreheads together and stroked him from root to tip, his thighs pressed tightly against Aziraphale’s to push against the tile. His hand was so deliciously full, hard smoothness sliding in his fist, his fingers bumping up against the flared head before sliding back down again and his world narrowed down to finally feeding that starved monster of desire to make the angel fall apart with pleasure.  


Their breaths mingled in the small shared space between them, Aziraphale making steadily increasing helpless sounds, rising in pitch and volume that were falling into his gaping maw of need and vibrating inside of him until he felt as if he might shake apart from the intensity of it.  


He absorbed every passing second as if to record for playback in his memory the feeling of the water running down his body, the flexing of Aziraphale’s buttocks under his hand as he chased his pleasure, the solid press of the thighs against him, the angel’s eyes falling shut, mouth dropping open, the fingers clenched onto him as the quivering tension steadily increased, and oh his hand sliding up and down that gloriously hard cock. He watched it all, a deep wave of satisfaction crashing through him as Aziraphale bucked into him, shuddering, his cock pulsing in Crowley’s hand as he cried out “ _Oh, oh, Crowley_!”  


Crowley pressed fervent kisses to Aziraphale’s face. _Finally_. He moved his hand through the last final pulses, eventually stilling but keeping it in place, unwilling to let go yet of the intimacy of the moment. The closeness of their bodies and warmth of the water surrounded him, pulling on the tight woven strands deep inside him, tugging them into a looser snarled ball.  


He needed to— “ _Angel._ “ he said urgently. ”You’re so— you should know that I— I need to tell you—.” He struggled to find the words that caught in his throat like barbs, his mouth working helplessly. The snarl tightened into a locked writhing mass, making him want to howl in frustration. “ _Fucking Hell!_ ”  


Aziraphale opened his eyes to look at him, his hands coming up to cup Crowley’s face, eyes impossibly tender as he gazed at the demon with understanding. “I know, my darling, _I know_.”  


Crowley stared at him, struggling to push out sounds in any meaningful way, his body tensing, fighting him, then he closed his eyes in defeat, reaching out blindly to grasp Aziraphale to him, who held him back just as fiercely. Any moisture that happened to be on his face was absolutely without any doubt solely due to the spray from the shower.  


The sounds of the patter of the water lent to the soothing caresses Aziraphale was making with his hands and eventually Crowley was able to regain enough of a semblance of composure to manage to let go of his clinging clutch. He felt somewhat awkward, standing there like a git, but Aziraphale was having none of that, pulling him back to give him press kisses on him, murmuring words of love and devotion that eased the tangled strands settling down within him.  


Soothed, Crowley let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and peeled off their sodden pajama shirts so they could wash each other properly, with lingering caresses and soft kisses. 


	16. Crowley and Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Here's a short-ish chapter setting up the scene for the final next chapter._
> 
> _And a very special THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH to the very first person who kindly offered to beta my work, Balder12! They gave me invaluable feedback on these last two chapters; since of course I know what I'm thinking motivates the characters it's sometimes hard for me to see if I was able to make my writing reflect that. Based on the feedback I was able to flesh out some scenes and make them better, I am so very, very appreciative of their time._
> 
> _I can't believe this story is almost completed; posting on AO3 and seeing all of the kudos and wonderful comments has been so incredibly satisfying as a writer; a bit addicting even, and a deep thank you from the bottom of my heart, dear readers, for contributing to that._

Aziraphale looked up from the travel guide to China he was reading to consider Crowley who was a little ways off, crouched down to watch some crabs in the tide pools among the rocks. He appeared to be entertaining himself by seeing how long it took for him to be as still as the stones around him for the skittish creatures to come out from hiding under their rocks. He then made a sudden movement, causing all of the crabs to madly skitter away in hiding, making him cackle as he settled down again. Aziraphale smiled at the harmless torment and stretched his legs out against the sand, settling down lower in the beach chair.  


To describe the past day as delightful was an understatement, Aziraphale mused. This dramatic of a change to the relationship they’d had for centuries was bound to include some wrinkles they would need to iron out, and Crowley’s idea to take them away somewhere new— _their very first holiday together!_ he exulted, still feeling a little giddy about the notion— was exactly what they needed.  


Much of his hesitation around their intimate relationship— aside from the obvious guilt that still crept around the edges of his mind at times— had to do with not really believing that Crowley returned the depth of feelings that Aziraphale had for him. Oh, he knew that Crowley cared about him, that they were more than simply friends and he certainly was beginning to trust that Crowley desired him physically; but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to believe that Crowley was in love with him or even that he deserved such an impossibility.  


He’d been utterly daft, of course.  


The roses cinched it. For all that he might have been able to explain everything else away under a perpetual cloud of self-denial, the physical proof of the curling petals with their bright colors mocked his inability to see the brightness of regard Crowley had for him for so long. He had simply taken the demon’s attention as his due; had not seen—had refused to see how Crowley had absorbed every detail of what Aziraphale enjoyed and arranged things time and time again to surreptitiously slide in those facets when they were together. Not to mention the times he had actually rushed in to save Aziraphale from his own stupidity, putting his own corporation at risk.  


And finally, as if scales fell from his eyes he could see clearly, for the first time ever, that Crowley loved him with a completeness that had far surpassed his for so long... Who was he to deny the demon anything, especially now? Who was he to deny Crowley the love he so clearly yearned to give? For all that he still struggled with feelings of unworthiness Crowley deserved no less than for Aziraphale to be brave enough for both of them to be able to accept love as well as give it.  


He looked back over the ocean to watch the birds diving for food in the sinking sunset. In his naiveté he hadn’t thought the experience of reciprocal intimacy wouldn’t make any difference between them and was pleasantly surprised to discover that wasn’t the case. There was a new connection between them that they were still exploring through an increase in affectionate touches, in the looks in their eyes, an almost undefinable _leaning_ towards each other that had nothing to do with their corporeal forms.  


Last night when Aziraphale had finished reading the book out loud that Crowley had brought they had lain awake quietly for a long time nestled together, their hands running gently against each other’s arms and sides and occasionally indulging in soft questing kisses. It was so exquisitely intimate, even more so than their actions in the shower, that the love he felt for Crowley seemed to swell within him until he felt some amount of surprise that his corporation could contain it all without somehow leaking out of him like sunlight through the slats of a wooden fence.  


But knowing the demon as he did he could tell something was still bothering him. He had an idea of what it was but didn’t know if he should bring it out into the open, or how to reassure him that he would continue to love him no matter what.  


A shadow cast over his book, interrupting his musings and he looked up to see Crowley standing over him.  


“Karen’s probably dropped off the ingredients by now; if you’re ready we can head back.”  


“Ingredients?”  


“Yeah, thought I might try cooking dinner for a change.”  


“You’re going to cook for me?” Aziraphale said in delight.  


“Mph. Don’t think for a minute that you’re getting out of helping. That way if it all goes sideways I can blame you.”  


Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, you and your nefarious plans.” He reached up a hand, which Crowley grasped and helped pull him upright. Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss the demon’s cheek. “It’s so very sweet of you to want to cook me dinner, my dear.”

“Ugh.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Must you again? I’m a mean nasty demon with excellent fashion sense is what I am.” he groused.

Aziraphale smirked. “I’m certain I can come up with excellent arguments against all of those declarations, but why ruin the promise of a pleasant evening?”

Crowley grumbled, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s back to guide him back to the cottage. “Don’t you dare try to criticize my clothing choices, you tartan wearing walking heirloom of the nineteenth century.”

“Well, that’s rich, coming from someone who thinks that wearing gray is a bold departure from unrelenting black. We’re not at a funeral for Heaven’s sake.”

“At least my style keeps up with current fashions! Why is it exactly you stopped paying any attention to your clothing choices the minute the world moved past looking like a Jane Austen novel?” 

Crowley fanned himself with his hand dramatically and said in a falsetto voice “Oh, _my_ , is that a flash of a bare arm? _Gracious_ , ah’m about to have a case of the vapors! Where, oh _where_ is my fainting couch?”

“Jabberwocky!”

Crowley stopped in his tracks in astonishment, sputtering “What?! No, no, no, it does _not_ work that way! You can’t use a safe word in the middle of a conversation just because you don’t like what I’m saying!”

Aziraphale sniffed disdainfully and huffed, “Well, I don’t see why not, seems it would be quite useful when you’re being too dense to listen to reason…”

They continued their bickering on the walk back to the cottage, eventually running out of insults to fling good naturedly at each other. 

Assigned the task of peeling potatoes, Aziraphale tried removing the skin with a knife but ended up removing large chunks of potato along with it and just barely avoided removing large chunks of his fingers as well. They both looked at the potato greatly reduced in size as a result.  


“I saw someone managing to peel the skin off in small strips. I think they had a special tool for it.”  


They looked through the cabinets but couldn’t figure out what might be a likely candidate so Crowley gave up and called Karen. After unsuccessfully trying to describe what a potato peeler looked like over the phone as well as getting the definite feeling that their culinary skills stopped at the expertise of boiling water Karen thought it might be better if she popped over to help before they managed to burn the kitchen down.  


Bemused at Ezra’s apparently genuine exclamations about the marvelous ingenuity of a potato peeler after she showed him how to use it, she set Crowley to work dicing the peeled potatoes while she sliced onions. After setting those up to sauté and heating a pot of water to boil the potatoes she wiped her hands preparing to leave but paused at the doorway.  


“Don’t look at it Crowley!”  


“Look at what?”  


“The pot!”  


“What? Why the Hell not?”  


“Because I’ve heard from numerous sources that a watched pot never boils!”  


“What?! Oh, Christ on a cracker, that’s just a saying, like the one about breaking a mirror bringing you seven year’s bad luck.”  


“Well, I’ll have you know that I did break a mirror once, and then I immediately got assigned to the most dreadful backwater village imaginable. They ate fried _chickens feet_ , the heathens—”  


At this point the forgotten pot of water was beginning to boil and the even more forgotten pan of onions was in danger of burning. Karen shook her head ruefully, reminded of the times she’d spent with varying degrees of success teaching her three boys, now all grown, to cook. She went back into the kitchen and cheerfully chided them for their cooking carelessness for which they looked properly chagrined, and stayed to supervise the grown men who were rather charmingly clueless about cooking but willing to try. They mostly managed with directions although Karen took over making the gravy, assuming correctly that would be beyond their current skill set.  


Aziraphale beamed in delight at the platters of sausages, mashed potatoes, sautéed onions, peas, and gravy. After thanking Karen effusively he automatically invited her to stay and eat with them, to which Crowley glared and Karen shook her head with a smile, declining, saying she needed to head home to cook dinner for her and her husband.  


After sitting down for dinner Aziraphale proclaimed that the simple fare tasted better than any he’d had in a pub and that they simply must try their hand at cooking more in the future. Crowley shrugged and waved his hand dismissively, while privately thinking about what they could try next. Maybe baked goods— he wanted to see if he could replicate the expression of rapture on Aziraphale’s face when he walked into a bakery with fresh baked scones at home.  


_Home._ Funny how that word just slipped into his thoughts now when he thought of Aziraphale. Not that they were exactly living together, or needed to, really, but when he thought of home now the feeling that came to his mind was wherever Aziraphale happened to be. _Home_ was here, now, casually sitting together in domesticity when he could reach out and touch anytime he wanted to… he watched his hand move forward as if in a dream, taking Aziraphale’s hand where it was resting on the table. His fingers turned the hand over, palm up, tracing his thumb along the dip of his palm. From the edge of his vision he saw Aziraphale set down his fork and felt the shift of his attention to him. Feelings swelled within him, waves crashing against granite hewn cliffs, pebbles crumbling off the rock.  


His hand tightened on Aziraphale’s. “I, um, you…” he floundered, trying to push words past the barrier. He tried looking up, seeing calm blue eyes looking back at him steadily, but the soft understanding emanating from their depths made it worse. His mouth went dry, his tongue feeling heavy.  


Crowley closed his eyes, leaning forward to blindly reach for the angel who turned towards him, their knees pressed against each other. Aziraphale stretched out his arms for Crowley to clutch at. He willed himself to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth.  


“I need to tell you…” he tried again, pulling words out himself like sticky molasses.  


“I— I—“ Waves crashing over the cliff, threatening to drown him. He breathed hard in, then out, fighting the panic rising in a rumbling crescendo warning him that he was placing himself in danger… but the whole bloody point of arranging this holiday was to try to get away from familiar surroundings with their familiar constraints so that he could _show_ Aziraphale, so that he could _tell_ him— His head bowed down under the feeling of the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze on him, the thumbs caressing against his arms reassuringly. He could do it; Aziraphale deserved to hear how much— He opened his mouth to try again but nothing came out.  


“God _bless_ it all to Hell!” he spat out after a long moment of unsuccessfully trying to force something, _anything_ meaningful out of his useless trap of a mouth. He clenched his fists and jaw in frustration, standing up so abruptly that his chair tipped over and fell backwards with a clatter.  


He took a step towards the door, the urge to flee so strong he had to force himself to turn around and instead stalk to the window overlooking the ocean, his arms tightly crossed across his chest, feeling like a failure. He was a shit demon and an even shittier— boyfriend? Ugh, no, too primary school. Eternal lover? Sounded like a bad vampire romance fic. Well, whatever they were he was shit at it.  


He heard Aziraphale get up and stop beside him, pause, and then move in front of him. Hands reached out to cup his face, tugging up his reluctant head to look into his eyes earnestly. “Crowley. You don’t have to say anything. I see things so clearly now, in a way I was too blind to see before. All these years, the way you’ve taken care of me and how hard you’re trying to show me the things you can’t say… you’ve been showing your love for me so clearly I’m astonished I never realized it before. It’s perfectly all right if you can’t tell me my darling, I don’t need to hear the words; all I need is you.”  


Crowley felt the hot pinprick of unshed tears behind his eyes. He gripped Aziraphale’s wrists tightly, trying to make him understand. “But I— it means Hell’s won, don’t you see? If I can’t escape their conditioning how do I know how much is me and how much is what they made me? I should be able—I _want_ to be able to tell you— _argh!_ ” he yelled, tearing away from Aziraphale and flinging himself into pacing.  


Aziraphale was silent for a moment as he watched Crowley pacing, then he went back to the table to refill their wine glasses. He then stood and brought one to Crowley, who took it but turned to face the large window, rigid tension in every line of his body as he watched the waves.  


Aziraphale stood next to him, thinking. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “I’d like to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me. That thing that happened between us after the concert, before we got into the car, did you enjoy that?”  


Crowley could feel his face heat up at the memory of it. “Maybe.” he mumbled, embarrassed.  


Aziraphale interpreted that as a yes. “I’d like to try that again if you don’t mind. I’m thinking it might help.”  


He looked askance at the angel. The idea of actually formally agreeing taking part in being called things like _good_ and _precious_ felt weird and unnatural, but there was a sharp deep hunger at the mention of it that rose so sharply, a cavernous maw within him that stretched so impossibly wide he realized he desperately yearned to experience that— whatever that was— again. He reluctantly said gruffly, “Yeah, sure, okay.”  


Aziraphale smiled warmly at him. “Excellent. I’m very pleased to hear it. Have a little more wine, if you’d like. You’re so tense; it may help you relax some.”  


Aziraphale turned back to watch the last red gold rays of the sun slip over the horizon as he took a sip from his glass. “I saw you watching the crabs earlier. Did I ever tell you about the first time I ever ate crab? It took decades before I could bring myself to do so; I mean _really_ , just _look_ at them— but then I had an assignment in a small fishing town…”  


Crowley settled into a state of half listening, the cadence of Aziraphale’s voice steadying him as he drank his wine. The solid presence of the angel by his side helped ground him as his vibrating tension slowly drained away under the familiar routine of listening to the angel talk.


	17. Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This was going to be one long final chapter but then it just kept getting longer, so I gave up and split it._
> 
> _I enjoyed the heck out of writing this chapter. Exploring praise kink in a story adds an extra layer to the intimacy that is simply fascinating to me. I’m thinking of trying out a story with Aziraphale as the one responsive to the praise; which is a little more tricky as Crowley seems more of a natural for it._
> 
> _Thank you again to Balder12 for so kindly being a beta for the wrap up of this story, so very, very much appreciated. I throw virtual craft cocktails in your direction. ___

Aziraphale chattered on, drawing out his story while watching Crowley from the corner of his eye. As the demon gradually stopped radiating vibrating tension Aziraphale kept talking a little while longer, keeping his tone smooth and pitched slightly low, until he trailed off. Crowley didn’t seem to notice, continuing to stare out at the darkening sky.  


Aziraphale glanced around, considering what might be best to do next and his eyes landed on the fireplace. Crowley started a little when the angel snapped his fingers, breaking the silence, then turned his head to look at the sudden flare of a fire in the fireplace.  


Aziraphale slipped his hand into Crowley’s and gently tugged to lead him over to stand in front of the fire. He unfastened the cuff of his sleeve to expose the slender wrist, lifting it to press his lips to the inner side. “My darling Crowley. How precious you are to me.” he murmured against the skin.  


A flush crept up Crowley’s throat as he stared down into his wine glass as if to find strength in the garnet liquid.  


Aziraphale slowly pushed the arm of his sleeve up to his elbow, then trailed his lips up the inside of his arm. “It was so unbelievably thoughtful of you to make all of these arrangements my dearest. I’m so very pleased. You’re _such_ a good boy, thinking of every detail to make our holiday together special. My sweet, sweet darling.”  


Crowley’s hands started shaking, the remaining wine in the glass sloshing against the sides. Aziraphale gently took the wine glass from him and set it down on the fireplace mantel, then turned back. Crowley was still looking down, tremors still evident in his slender frame. Aziraphale hesitated, uncertain for a moment if he was doing more harm than good, but after a prolonged pause Crowley looked up at him, and there was such unmistakable _longing_ in his eyes that Aziraphale couldn’t help but respond to the raw need written all over his face, to step forward and pull him into his arms, stroking his hair.  


“I’ve got you my darling, it’s all right. You are my cherished love.”  


Crowley whimpered into his neck. Aziraphale let him rest for a moment, humming wordlessly, then pulled back enough to tilt Crowley’s head up so he could look into his eyes.  


“Now, it is very important to me my dear, that you let me know if there is anything I do that makes you uncomfortable, if you need me to stop. Either the safeword we discussed, or if you want to use those stoplight colors you mentioned that’s fine as well. Can you do that for me? ”  


Crowley stared at him. The muscles in his jaw flexed, as if he was about to try to speak but he remained silent. Aziraphale waited patiently, continuing to trail his fingers through ginger hair. Eventually Crowley managed to part his lips enough to say in a low gravelly voice, “Yeah.”  


Aziraphale beamed with approval. “That’s my good boy. Let’s see now…” he looked down thoughtfully, then up again. “My darling. Would it be all right with you if I took your clothes off? I would very much enjoy seeing your beautiful body.”  


Crowley swallowed hard, his eyes wide, and gave a small nod.  


“Oh, excellent. You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you.” He brought his hands down to unbutton the other cuff, giving the underside of his wrist and arm the same gentle treatment, then slowly unbuttoned the front of his shirt, sliding it off and taking the time to neatly drape it on the back of the couch.  


He walked back to Crowley, his hand lightly skimming the surface of the bared skin as he admired the sinewy muscles, the smooth chest tapered down to a flat stomach that pulled in with an intake of breath as his fingers trailed over it. “Gracious, but you’re stunning.” Aziraphale whispered, letting the adoration flow out into his voice. Crowley’s eyes slid closed and he whimpered deep in his throat, swaying slightly.  


The hush of the room felt thick, even the crackle of the fire sounded muted as if unwilling to intrude. “My sweet boy. May I remove the rest of your clothes or would you rather stay as you are?” Aziraphale asked softly.  


Crowley’s brow furrowed a little, as if the question seemed impossible to answer. Aziraphale waited a beat, and then realized that Crowley might have difficulty articulating a response. “Hmm, let me rephrase that. I want you to be honest with me my darling, and it’s perfectly all right for you to tell me no. Do you want me to finish undressing you?”  


Ah, that did it. Crowley nodded, his eyes still closed.  


“Oh, lovely. You are so perfect for me, my darling.” Aziraphale said approvingly as he reached for Crowley’s belt. A shudder went through the demon at the words but he otherwise managed to stay still as Aziraphale peeled his jeans and pants down, freeing the thickened cock that lay heavily against his thigh. Sinking down to his knees to remove the remainder of his clothes, he couldn’t stop himself from brushing his lips against the silky soft skin of Crowley’s cock, which twitched underneath him. He rubbed his cheek against it, feeling it harden further and rise up which made it difficult to resist the very strong desire to take him into his mouth. Placing a final kiss to Crowley’s thigh, he focused on removing the remainder of Crowley’s clothing until the demon was standing nude before him.  


Aziraphale dimmed the lights so that the golden glow of the fire reflected off of Crowley’s skin, highlighting every dip and swell, every angle and flat plane beckoning to him. Aziraphale caught his breath as the sight and breathed out, “ _Very_ good.” He slowly walked around Crowley, eyes traveling over his form.  


“Although I’m sure I would love any form you took my darling, I have to admit I’ve always been rather partial to this one.” He reached out to slide his hand across the curve of Crowley’s buttocks. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be able to put my hand here? Those tight jeans of yours leave nothing to the imagination, and oh, I’ve imagined so _very_ much.”  


He knelt down to rub his cheek against Crowley’s buttocks. “I could write a sonnet about this alone, devote myself to its rounded perfection, to its glorious curves, to its—” he nipped it lightly, “firm muscles.” He mouthed along the crease of the buttocks, running his finger tantalizingly down the cleft while Crowley made a small keening noise, a rushing heat coursing through him at the sound. “But that will have to wait for another time.” he said regretfully, standing up.  


His hands moved to Crowley’s back, splaying his fingers wide against the lean muscles. “I’ve wished I could go back in time to convince Michelangelo to use you as his model, to see this form immortalized in stone but now I think perhaps not, as I’d much rather keep this part of you all for myself.”  


“I’m hopelessly greedy that way.” he murmured, stepping closer and sliding a hand around Crowley to rest against his flat abdomen. “I just cannot abide the notion of sharing what’s _mine_.” He pulled Crowley firmly against him, and the demon whimpered his breath coming faster as his trembling increased. He slumped back into Aziraphale bonelessly as the angel held him firmly upright.  


Aziraphale widened his stance to brace against Crowley as he held him tightly. That seemed to soothe Crowley as slowly his shaking lessoned. Aziraphale hummed reassuringly while wondering if this was too much for Crowley to handle. If he proceeded further was it just because of his own selfish desires? What did Crowley really need? He reflected on the demon's words. _It means Hell’s won, don’t you see? _These past couple of days Crowley had clearly been struggling to tell Aziraphale how he felt and just as clearly was anguished at his inability to do so. Aziraphale had meant what he said, that he didn’t need the words. But if Crowley needed the words, well. That was a different matter entirely.  
__

__He himself was not unaffected, seeing the way Crowley was responding to just his voice was intoxicating, soaking into the very bones of his corporation, feeding the fire that had been slowly building within him for so long to take care of the demon, to be needed by him, to possess him. And judging by his arms full of shuddering, limp, vulnerable demon with hitching breaths and arching erection, Crowley needed this just as much, if not more. And the thought that he could give Crowley what he needed, like this, showing him how much he cherished him, loved him, filled him with an aching bloom of his own need within his chest, curling alongside a punch of _hunger_ that was so strong a tremor briefly ran through his own body before subsiding into focused awareness of the beloved body in his arms.  
_ _

__He took a steadying breath and pressed his lips to Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, my darling. How about you come lie down with me so that I can hold you properly my sweet boy?”_ _

  


Oh holy fire dripping from the sky, Crowley's mind stuttered to a halt, incapable of anything as mundane as language, instead being consumed by raw need to be possessed by, taken care of by Aziraphale in every way imaginable. He dimly realized that Aziraphale seemed to be waiting for a response, and managed to nod mutely but wondered in an abstract kind of way how he was going to be able to make it into the bedroom as his legs seemed to have stopped functioning properly. He needn’t have worried though, because Aziraphale shifted him to the side and simply picked him up, cradling him in the strong frame of his arms to carry him into the bedroom. Crowley nestled his face into Aziraphale’s neck, feeling almost unbearably coddled in a manner that had some deep part of him uneasy at his neediness but overshadowed by an even deeper part of him that he hadn’t known existed being dazed at being finally soothed.  


Aziraphale laid him gently on the bed, arranging his limbs so that he was laid out comfortably and sat down next to him. Running his hand running down Crowley’s arm reassuringly he said, “Hmm. I’m wondering how you would like me to be while I hold you my dearest. Would you like me to keep my clothes on while I hold you?”  


Now that he managed to respond to without hesitation, shaking his head negatively. He knew without a doubt that he needed Aziraphale’s skin against his own, that press of warm flesh sinking into his yearning body.  


He warmed under the pleased smile of delight Aziraphale gave him as he stood to remove his clothes with efficient movements and setting them to the side. When the last article of clothing was removed he moved onto the bed, lying alongside Crowley to face him.  


Aziraphale ran his hand Crowley’s bare side, lingering on his hip and said in a sighing voice, “Just look at you. Such gorgeous perfection that I can hardly believe you’re mine. I’m so very lucky to have such a darling creature such as yourself in my arms.”  


Crowley’s face burned, his eyes squeezing shut as he turned into the pillow.  


“It’s all right my darling. Come here, let me hold you.” Crowley gladly burrowed closer to Aziraphale, his arms curled up, huddling into the angel who embraced him, his hands circling around to caress his back. “That it, I so adore having you in my arms. You’re doing so well my love.”  


Crowley shuddered, pressing into the angel. Aziraphale let him rest for a moment, his hands running soothingly up and down his back. “Try to relax for me my dearest.” Crowley brought his awareness more to his body. He hadn’t realized he had tensed up again, teetering on the edge of feeling so overwhelmed by the feeling of being so cared for, so loved it was almost painful, like butterfly claws against his skin. His world had narrowed to the awareness of Aziraphale and the need to please him rose up, enabling him to focus on relaxing his reluctant body and sink into the soft body he was pressed into. He was rewarded by Aziraphale’s humm of approval as he became a boneless weight.  


Then that low voice began again with precisely enunciated words.  


“I have you my darling, you’re being so good for me. You see to my needs so well. Did you enjoy making me feel good in the shower?”  


That memory plucked at the edges of his consciences, bringing with it whispers of pleasure. His cock, which had relaxed along with the rest of him, responded again to the thought of making the angel come. Crowley whimpered, a deep shiver running down his spine.  


There was a pause, then, “Try to answer me my darling. Did you enjoy pleasuring me?”  


Crowley nodded against Aziraphale’s chest with some effort.  


“Good boy, I’m so proud of you. You made me feel so good, I could hardly get enough of your gorgeous body, your _magnificent cock_ in my hand was nothing short of divine. And the way you touched me until I came undone; oh my sweet boy, I have never come so hard as when your hand was on me.”  


Hearing filthy words drip from that perfectly clipped voice made Crowley squirm, his partial erection swelling more, adding another layer of sensation to the heavy tide pulling him under. He needed more— something— without conscious thought his curled up arm reached out to pull at Aziraphale. He kept pulling as he rolled onto his back until Aziraphale moved over on top of him and settled on top of him like a heavy blanket.  


“Is that better, my darling? I’m so proud of you, letting me know what you need from me. Such a good boy.” Aziraphale purred into his ear. “I’m here to take care of you my dearest. You are so precious to me.”  
The weight of the angel on top of him pressed him down almost as much as those honeyed words oozing down in thick strands, spreading throughout his limbs. He couldn’t move under all of that welcome heavy weight, pressed down on the riotous seething emotions he fled from, of apprehension, doubt, fear, of love. Those emotions rolled and boiled and _pushed_ up from the barbs holding them in place.  


Aziraphale pressed kisses to Crowley’s face, neck and shoulders in between murmured words. “You’re doing so well my dearest love. You’re being so good for me. My precious, sweet love. I adore you and will take _such_ good care of you.”  


They fell into a rhythm of breathing in and out together, their breaths slowing into measured beats. Aziraphale shifted a little to rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder, one hand curled around the nape of the demon’s neck, the other stretched down on top of Crowley’s arm.  


Aziraphale whispered quietly against his skin “There is nothing that matters but you and I here, together. All you feel is me against your body, holding you, cherishing you.” His breath was like a sigh of adoration sinking into his skin as he drifted… and then Aziraphale said “I love you.”, his soft voice radiating absolute sincerity and so much warmth, so much _love_ that suddenly it felt like too much effort to continue clutching onto all of those emotions that were pushing, shoving, crashing against him… and just like that, Crowley let go. With a sigh, his body relaxed heavily into the mattress and had he been able to form any kind of conscious thoughts he would have been astonished to realize he was free of the underlying deeply buried tendrils of grief and fear that had been his constant companion since he had Fallen.  


Crowley drifted in a weightless fog as if time had come to a standstill just for them until awareness of Aziraphale’s comforting weight on him and the answering press of the mattress below him became started brushing at the edge of his consciousness. He exhaled in a long sigh, turning his head slightly to nuzzle into the curls on Aziraphale’s head.  


Aziraphale squeezed his hand gently on the back of Crowley’s neck. “My sweet boy.” came his low voice. “When you’re ready, I’d like you to try telling me how you feel. Can you do that for me?”  


Aziraphale’s voice pulled at him, drawing him out of his deep rooted inability to vocalize any feelings that made him vulnerable and his need to protect himself, to hide. He opened his mouth to say drowsily, “I feel… good.”  


“Lovely. I’m so very pleased to hear you say that.” Aziraphale said, approval dripping from his voice. “You’re doing so well my darling, you’re perfect. I’ve got you. Can you tell me more? You can do it, my beautiful, brave love. Trust that I love you, that I’m right here with you, that I adore you.”  


“Mmm.” Aziraphale was asking him to do something he wasn’t used to doing, but he wanted to please him, to make him happy. His awareness drifted closer to the surface, feeling Aziraphale’s breath tickling against his skin, the chill against the parts of his skin that weren’t covered by the angel’s welcome weight, and his hands slowly rose to settle against Aziraphale’s side. His mind wandered to what he wanted to say and dimly wondered why he had thought it was so hard.  


“Aziraphale.” he said dreamily, the weight of the word rolling off of his tongue. Aziraphale stilled, waiting quietly. He kept his eyes closed, his head pressed against the angel’s. “I… feel… complete with you. You’re my… _home_. I want..”  


He wanted so much, how to put it into words? How to tell him how unbelievable it was that he could finally have what he wanted, a demon, having an angel? “I want to… find all of the restaurants that will make you moan with pleasure as you eat… I want to sit beside you and feed ducks until they grow so fat they can’t waddle…”  


Now that he had managed to start he was unable to stop, the words rolling out of him in a tide. “I want to trail behind you at every boring antique book sale just to watch your face light up at the chicken scratchings of some long dead author, I want to go to sleep in your arms as you read to me, I want us to share together the joy and grief that is humanity, I want to go fast with you, go slow with you, I want to hear the noises you make as I touch you, as I make you feel good. I—”  


He took a breath and let it out slowly and easily, moving his hands up to Aziraphale’s face who lifted to look down at him. He opened his eyes to look into the blue eyes that steadied him, anchored him. “Angel, more than anything that has and will ever exist, I love you. And I will love you endlessly far past after the last star winks out of existence.”  


Aziraphale caught his breath, his eyes shimmering in luminous pools. “Oh my dearest, darling love. And I you. Everything you said and more.”  


Crowley smiled, blinking away his own moisture from his eyes. Impossibly, he felt a laugh start to bubble up from inside of him, which he tried to hold back but then he saw that Aziraphale had seen and had an answering twinkle in his eyes so he let it go. The both of them started laughing, escalating into great peals that hurt their sides as they clutched each other tightly. After some time Crowley rolled them to their sides as their chuckles subsided, wiping moisture from their eyes.  


“We’re a pair of bloody lunatics.” Crowley said, chortling.  


“We’re each other’s lunatics, so it’s all right.” Aziraphale countered.  


“Well, there’s that I suppose.”  


Aziraphale suddenly reached out and pulled him into his arms tightly. “Oh Crowley. You are _everything to me_.”  


“Yeah.” Hoping his tone conveyed how desperately he felt that way too, Crowley hugged him back just as hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If you enjoy stories that explore things like praise kink and dominate/ submissive relationships but in a loving way, this chapter was inspired by_  
> [Rough Enough For Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20991281/chapters/49917608)  
> which is magnificent writing that I very much recommend if you like that sort of thing.
> 
> _I’ll be sad to see this story go, I’ve had a lot of fun with it, but that will give me time to decide which of the other stories I’m working on to lavish lots of attention on and eventually start posting on AO3. All of them are explicit and have happy endings, because I enjoy writing what I like to read._   
> 


	18. Cherishing together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Pretty much an entire chapter of spicy bits for you._
> 
> _Thank you so very much to all of you that have left kudos, that have subscribed, and especially to those of you who have left comments. Everything from a single word expressing your appreciation to more detailed feedback always brightened my day and brought a smile to my face. Your support and encouragement has thrilled and inspired me, sometimes literally as some reader’s comments have encouraged me to flesh out the story better._
> 
> _I love that there is an environment like this where we have the opportunity to support each other so positively, especially with times being as challenging as they are right now. Let’s continue being kind to one another._

Crowley was pretty sure he was grinning like a lovesick idiot but figured he’d let it slide just this once. He felt incredibly good, better than he could ever remember. Unlike every demon he’d ever met he was cursed with an imagination, and that ability to imagine had tortured him with images of wrapping around that solid form like the snake he was, of taking his hand without fear, of seeing those blue eyes light up at seeing him enter the shop and know that light was just for him. But he hadn’t imagined this, of being so tenderly cared for, of feeling so cherished it almost hurt, of feeling that they were bound even more tightly together in a manner that yet again shifted and solidified the changing relationship between them. The relationship that was so much deeper and more satisfying than sex… although that was without a doubt a _very_ satisfying part of things...  


And with that thought his eyes drifted down as he caressed the curves of Aziraphale’s hips, sweeping across the swell of his belly and letting out a long sigh. “Blessed fuck, angel. I’ve been waiting to be able to touch you like this for so long it’s a testament to my supernatural powers of great restraint that I can manage to let you leave the bed at all for the next decade.”  


Aziraphale’s cheeks bloomed red and he ducked his head as he said shyly, “Well. I’m sure you would prefer it if my corporation were more, uh, trim, as it were.”  


Crowley narrowed his eyes at him and muttered “I’m going to fucking _kill_ that wanker Gabriel if I ever see him again.” Then louder and more firmly, “ _No_ , Aziraphale. All of these curves for me to slide my hands over? The way you feel, all soft when I’m pressed up against you and the way you fill my arms? It’s as if you were fucking _made_ for me, your form is goddamn perfection is what it is.” The last part was said somewhat indignantly, which made Aziraphale huff out a laugh despite himself.  


He still wasn’t entirely sure how much he agreed with Crowley but there was no denying the admiration in the demon’s eyes and the almost worshipful way he was still caressing his torso.  


“My darling.” he said a little shyly. “I’d very much like to kiss you now, if that’s all right with you.”  


“Angel.” Crowley said earnestly, brushing his cheek with his fingers, “Don’t you know by now you can do anything you want to me?”  


“Mmm. Anything?” he murmured, as he leaned to nose under the demon’s jaw to press sucking kisses to his neck as Crowley obligingly tilted his head for better access. “Well, in that case I think I’ll dress you in a sky blue suit and then there’s a lovely poetry reading next week I was planning to go to. You can be my plus one.”  


Crowley mock growled, scooting closer and throwing a leg over to hook over the angel, pulling him close. “Shut up. I can’t be held responsible for any demonic retribution for such torture you know.”  


Aziraphale wiggled happily against him, which had the intended benefit of sending spikes of pleasure radiating outward from the certain portion of their anatomies pressed up against each other. “Oh, my, what a dreadful thing that would be, for you to have your wicked way with me in retaliation. Perhaps you had better tell me exactly what you would do, so that I can um, be properly fearful and all.”  


“Well…” Crowley drawled, rolling over on top of Aziraphale and lightly grasping his wrists. “I would definitely hold you down, so you couldn’t resist me even if you wanted to.”  


“Mmmm, yes, that would be terrible, you foul fiend.” Aziraphale purred in delight, pushing his arms up just enough to feel the resistance and raising his legs up to hook behind Crowley’s arse.  


“Then I would take my pleasure against you.” He proceeded to demonstrate with slow rolls of his hips, Aziraphale arching underneath him.  


“ _Yes_. I mean, oh, no, anything but that.” Aziraphale moaned breathlessly.  


They moved against each other, enjoying the slow chase of pleasure as they leisurely kissed. Crowley shifted down, trailing his mouth in the hollow above Aziraphale’s clavicle.  


Aziraphale pulled his arms down and curled his hands around Crowley’s flexing arse. “And after all of that horrible torture, perhaps then you would take me?” he asked.  


Crowley's mouth worked its way over to the other side, pausing to suck a bruising kiss into the base of Aziraphale’s neck as the angel shuddered beneath him before he responded. The need for Aziraphale to possess him still thrummed in him, not as overwhelmingly as it was a short time ago but still coloring the edges of his desire. The idea trickled through him that maybe the next time Aziraphale whispered those delicious, intoxicating words at him he could be thrusting into him at the same time… his groin tightened, snapping forward insistently at the thought.  


“Mmmmm.” he groaned. “Yes, that someday, and soon. But today… I want you to take me. If you’d like to.”  


Aziraphale bit his lip, a shadow of uncertainty passing across his face. “Of course I want that. But, are you sure?”  


Crowley lifted up to look down into anxious blue eyes. “Mph, _yes_ , I _really_ want— but look, it’s totally okay if you’re not ready. I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable—”  


Aziraphale’s eyes shimmered as he abruptly pulled Crowley to him, their mouths meeting in a long lingering kiss that quickly became more urgent, their hands and bodies moving hard against each other. After one of many of Aziraphale’s long rolls of his groin against the demon while grasping tightly onto his buttocks Crowley shuddered and panted, “ _Fuck_. If— is that a yes?”  


Aziraphale nipped at his neck. “It’s _absolutely_ a yes my darling.”  


Crowley groaned. “Good. Great. Uh, anytime is great, now would be bloody fucking fantastic.”  


Aziraphale chuckled at his eagerness. “Do you really think I won’t take the time to savor you my dear boy?”  


He smirked at Crowley’s somewhat disgruntled expression and shifted out from underneath him to lean over to pull out a small bottle out from the dresser beside the bed. He propped up on his elbow alongside Crowley and trailed his fingers down his torso, running his fingernails along the inside of the demon’s thigh as he twitched underneath him, then moving up to cup his taut balls and gently fondle them.  


Crowley pulled at Aziraphale ineffectively trying to pull him on top of him.  


Aziraphale smiled down at him. “You are temptation incarnate, you serpent.” he murmured. “I desire to— and will— possess you in the manner you are begging so prettily for. But tonight… you are a banquet to be appreciated. And I desire to appreciate you so very, very much.” he said as he trailed his hand down Crowley’s torso.  


Crowley shifted restlessly underneath him, his hard cock leaking as it jutted upwards seeking relief. Aziraphale applied lubricant to his hand and reached down farther, pressing his finger against Crowley’s entrance, slowly flexing the pad of his finger against it. Crowley squirmed against the tantalizing pressure, drawing a knee up for better access. “ _Angel._ ” he whined, flexing his hips downwards hopefully.  


Aziraphale smiled and hooked his leg over Crowley’s, shifting closer to roll his hips against the demon’s thigh in slow glides. He teased a little longer, barely breaching while Crowley squirmed and panted, then slowly slid his finger all of the way in, drawing it partly out again to begin slow steady strokes. Crowley sighed in relief and turned towards Aziraphale, pulling his head down to kiss him. Aziraphale fingered him leisurely and swallowed Crowley’s moan as he added another finger, continuing the slow steady movement that matched the rolling drag of his hard cock against Crowley’s thigh.  


Aziraphale was greatly enjoying take his time stroking him while Crowley tried to curb his impatience, pushing down onto the angel’s fingers with jerking flexes of his hips, the mounting pressure in his groin making him lose the ability to maintain the connection of their mouths together as his head arched back against the pillow.  


“Oh _fuck_ you make me feel so good.” he panted. “If you don’t doing get inside of me _right this minute_ I’m pretty fucking sure I’m going to discorporate.”  


“Mmm…” Aziraphale said as he continued stroking, leaning over to apply his mouth to Crowley’s nipple. “We can’t have that, now can we?”  


As the bastard made no further move to change the situation Crowley started quivering with need. “Aziraphale, I swear to Somebody, for the love of anything holy—” He squirmed upright onto his knees, turning to face the headboard of the bed and reaching behind him to pull at Aziraphale with eager hands. Aziraphale rose to his knees behind Crowley, rubbing his cock into the cleft of the demon’s arse.  


“Is this what you need my darling?” he cooed into Crowley’s ear.  


Crowley leaned over the headboard, pushing back into Aziraphale. “ _Yes, please,_ take me, angel, _please_.”  


Aziraphale caught his breath at the raw pleading. Despite his declarations of wanting to savor Crowley, the desire to possess the demon with raw animal like ferocity flicked further from the ever present embers to the bright spark of flame. _Not yet. Not yet. Too soon_.  


He distracted himself by running his hands along the delectable arse presented to him, pressing tender kisses on Crowley’s shoulder. He idly considered spending more time appreciating the rounded shapes that fit so perfectly in his hands, like puzzle pieces slotted together, the firm cheeks seeming to beg for a pinch against that taunt flesh, a slide of the mouth against it’s curves… but as Crowley shifted restlessly Aziraphale smiled to himself and decided to postpone pleasantly continuing to torture the demon for another time. He leaned back to apply lubricant and positioned himself.  


But as his cockhead nudged Crowley’s entrance he stilled. The last and only time he had entered Crowley flashed through his mind and although he knew beyond doubt that this time was different, that Crowley wanted him, that he loved him, the intense shame that had dogged his emotions so completely and for so long was hard to banish so quickly. When he felt Crowley’s hand reach back to caress his thigh he realized he hadn’t moved for far too long, leaving his partner waiting and likely wondering why he wasn’t shagging him senseless by now. _No, no, not again, you idiotic fool_.  


“Sorry, I— I just need a minute.” he said gruffly, his erection flagging in his hand as he struggled. He turned his head away, embarrassed.  


Crowley turned to face him, gathering his face in his hands as he kissed him.  


“None of that now.” Crowley said. “Get out of your head and focus on me.” He leaned their foreheads together and said softly, “It’s okay if you need to stop. But if you want to continue, I have an idea of something we can try.”  


Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss him but Crowley kept the contact brief and pulled back. “Talk to me? I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for.”  


Aziraphale sighed a puff of air into the small space between them. “I didn’t feel I needed to say the safe word darling, it wasn’t that bad, I just had a— a moment. I suppose I felt yellow, but I very much want to continue if I haven’t completely ruined the mood.”  


“S’kay. Just tell me if that changes, yeah?”  


Aziraphale nodded. Crowley nuzzled against him, then pulled Aziraphale to lie back down on the bed as he swung his leg over to straddle the angel’s wide hips. He moved his hand down to encircle Aziraphale’s wilted erection and began steady strokes to bring it back up to its former state.  


Crowley leaned down to kiss him, then murmur against his lips, “I won’t always be able to tell you how I feel about you.” His free hand slid down to twine their fingers together. “But I can show you.” His tongue swept in to capture Aziraphale’s mouth in a deep kiss, then pulled back to whisper, “Let me show you.”  


Aziraphale exhaled in a deep sigh. “My dearest.”  


His eyes slid closed, giving himself up into the feeling of Crowley’s hand moving on him, the feel of his mouth against his skin, and the weight of his body across his hips. _Crowley loves me. He loves me._ He had known it, had no doubt of the depths of the demon’s feelings for him but there was something undeniably tender and viscerally satisfying about hearing the actual words for the first time, especially knowing how hard Crowley had struggled to do so. He took the memory of those precious words, letting them spread throughout him, push down his doubt and fear and intertwine into the mounting pressure building in his groin.  


His eyes opened again and he gazed up into the golden slit eyes that he had always found so beautiful, even in the beginning. “Make love to me?” he whispered.  


“Alwaysss.”  


Holding contact with Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley rose up on his knees and positioned himself over Aziraphale’s thick shaft, pausing. When Aziraphale moved his hands to grasp Crowley’s hips and send a message with the pull of his hands Crowley slowly lowered down. Aziraphale gasped softly as his cockhead breached Crowley’s entrance. Crowley’s hands moved on top of Aziraphale’s, tightening over his as he continued pushing down until Aziraphale was fully sheathed inside of him.  


Crowley lowered down, bracing himself on the bed, to kiss Aziraphale.  


“S’kay?”  


“More than that my dear,” Aziraphale breathed. “It’s bloody _fantastic_.”  


“Good.” Crowley grunted as he rolled his hips downward, Aziraphale canting up to match him. “Thatsss good…”  


They established a languid rocking rhythm, exchanging long open mouthed kisses for some time until the pace began gradually increasing, their breaths quickening to the point it was becoming difficult to maintain the kissing.  


Crowley sat upright and began lifting up more, Aziraphale feeling his cock sliding out, the flared edge of the shaft catching on the rim before sinking into him again.  


The impossibly gorgeous sight of the naked demon straddling him, his flat abdomen clenching as he thrust himself onto Aziraphale’s cock, his erection proof of the enjoyment he was feeling had him riding a wave of pleasure so high he felt as if it permeated every atom of his being. He curled his hand around Crowley’s cock, stroking it in sync with his own pulses of pleasure as he pushed upwards with his hips, getting that sinfully wonderful sensation of being buried to the hilt before Crowley pulled up to do it again, and again, and _again_.  


Looking into Crowley’s eyes, seeing that desire and love radiating from from that golden gaze, hearing the gasping breaths of pleasure— he needed—  


“Touch yourself for me my darling.”  


Crowley moved his hand down to replace Aziraphale’s, which freed his hands to grasp Crowley’s hips firmly and pull him onto his cock as he thrust up into him with strong pushes of his pelvis. He watched as Crowley’s eyes squeezed shut, his head falling back, “Ah— _bless it_ — you feel so— _yes_ —”, shuddering at the increased thrusts on Aziraphale’s cock. Watching Crowley’s mounting ecstasy pushed him over the edge, this time with no fear, just joy as the pressure mounted to an impossible point and then spilled over.  


“Oo—h, my dear boy, I’m going to— _oh, oh, yes, oh— Crowley! _” He came, and came, and came, hips bucking up uncontrollably, his entire body shaking with his release.  
__

__As he sank back down from the supernova of pleasure he felt Crowley’s lips on his, kissing him tenderly. Returning the kiss, his arms encircled the demon and he repositioned them so they lay on their side facing each other, their legs intertwined, Crowley’s head cradled on Aziraphale’s arm. He moved his hand down to stroke Crowley’s hard shaft, precome slicking the slide of skin against skin.  
_ _

__“Come for me, my precious darling boy.”  
_ _

__Crowley whined, burrowing into him, then groaned out “ _Angel…!_ ”, his hips snapping forward into Aziraphale’s fist as his spend spilled over his fingers.  
_ _

__Aziraphale held him close, his hand cradling Crowley’s cock as it softened. Crowley nestled into his neck, holding onto him fiercely.  
_ _

__As the intensity faded to more bearable levels Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck and sat up, tugging down the blankets as Aziraphale scooted out of the way, then pulling them up and over to cover them against the chill in the air. He settled back down into the circle of Aziraphale’s arms.  
_ _

__“Well. That was…” Aziraphale trailed off, acutely feeling the inadequacy of the human language to express how that felt.  
_ _

__“Yeah.” Crowley agreed. He smirked as Aziraphale looked down with a small moue of distaste and waved a hand to make them clean, then yawned.  
_ _

__Crowley lifted up on his elbow to look at him incredulously. “Oi! Did you just _yawn_? You know there’s jokes about human males just rolling over and going to sleep after sex, right? Don’t you think that carrying the whole emulating humanity thing a bit far?”  
_ _

__Too content to be annoyed, Aziraphale pulled Crowley down so that the demon was pillowed against his chest again. “Hush you. I’ll come up with something clever to say back at you tomorrow. For tonight, I just want to feel you in my arms.”  
_ _

__Crowley circled his arm around Aziraphale and squeezed.  
_ _

__“I uh, feel that thing at you. So fucking much.”  
_ _

__“And I love you too my dearest. Always.”  
_ _

__“Forever.”  
_ _

__“Forever.” Aziraphale agreed sleepily.  
_ _

__In a small cottage in a small part of the world, an angel and a demon slept in each other’s arms._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yep, for some reason it’s cannon in my head that the only time Aziraphale can fall asleep is after sex._
> 
> _After over three months of posting a chapter mostly weekly and the story taking on a life of its own it’s finally finished. (Unless I get any requests for bonus chapter content.) It took me endless hours but I enjoyed it immensely. Well mostly anyway, the times that I had to drag my muse out kicking and screaming from whatever dark corner it was hiding in was annoying. ;)_
> 
> _Now off I go to work on my other stories. Thank you again, and ciao._

**Author's Note:**

> _Other Good Omens stories of mine:[An Opportune Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609303/chapters/54034240), 2 chapters. [Teach Me Your Lessons, Teach Me Your Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302003), 1 chapter. Both pure spicy fluff about Crowley and Aziraphale's first time being intimate together, if you like that sort of thing. Which I do. Which is why I wrote it. _
> 
> _[Cinders Bound by Golden Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175502/chapters/63693454) , a 22 chapter Good Omens Cinderella historical fic. _
> 
> _I love to chat about anything Good Omens; my writing, your writing, whether or not ducks have ears...! Feel free to chat or follow me on Tumblr: @ajconstantine;[AJ Constantine](https://ajconstantine.tumblr.com/) or on Discord: AJ Constantine#0325_


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